I was going to die today.
However, waking to the tragic, senseless death of fourteen others—people who were not asking to die, not in pain, not at all convinced, or even aware, that it was their time to go—has given me pause.
I’d like to call it compassion. But I think it was the overwhelming rush of sorrow, sorrow which didn’t belong to me alone, and so was somehow stronger felt. Sorrow stays my hand. Sorrow keeps me, it cannot let me go. I am bound by sorrow.
Soon, sorrow shall turn to anger, I know. Because I believe that it should not be anyone else’s decision. Those people were robbed of their lives by the actions of another. Once my sorrow has turned, I will be incensed. I will imagine myself to be Anger incarnate.
And then I must let that go.
Anger cannot keep me.