Madness

These are the types of columns I hate to write. I can at least understand the madness that accompanies war. When confronting the demons that have been unleashed on foreign soil by a handful of Generals and scumbags in cheap suits I have the luxury of placing the blame squarely on the shoulders of men I can rejoice in hating. Today, as heaven, if it exists at all, sadly welcomed the souls of 33 innocent college students and their instructors we have no one to blame but an, as of yet, unnamed madmen who took his own life and gave us no clue as to why he lost his battle with reason and decided to become the nations most prolific killer in a matter of mere hours. With nothing but questions and tears we are left alone with our sadness. We are left alone in anger. These are the types of columns I hate to write.
I hate to write them because they go nowhere. There can be no obvious statement of defiance. I have no words of solace for a nation already teetering on the edge of madness. I have nothing to consider but the lives of those who are left in grief with the knowledge that they will never see their children again. Virginia, like New York and Columbine seem so much closer when you’re used to dealing with places like Baghdad and Karbala. This is our back yard and we have been forced to witness the worst mass murder in the history of our nation while staring out our windows and wondering to ourselves if the madness will ever end. Will the voices that taunt us in our sleep ever be silenced? Will our children ever feel safe? These are the types of columns I hate to write.
I hate to write these columns because I can feel in my soul that this won’t be the last one I write. It seems like an exercise in futility. This oh so American phenomenon of mass school shootings is an epidemic with no cure. No amount of politicking, writing or bitching will stop the next one from happening and no amount of denial will keep you safe from the instant gratification of a lone gunman on a quest for self destruction. Forgive me for being blunt but bullets and psychotics simply do not play favorites. These are the types of columns I hate to write.
By the time this goes to press you will know more than I do now. The faceless killer will have a name and an identity. The man we all want to be a monster will be rendered human. There will probably be a note. Some sort of explanation that explains nothing. The press will stick with the story until the victims begin to lose their identities and simply become the “victims.” Experts will be trotted out and families will get face time. Witnesses will be interviewed and eventually life, or what’s left of it, will get back to normal on the Virginia Tech. campus. Until next time. At that point these students, like the ones who lived through the Columbine massacre will relive the worst day of their lives and we will remember who they were and what they went through. This is why I hate writing these columns. The next time.
So, until the next time. Keep the memories of these children close to your hearts as if they were your own. No one expects you to learn their names or their life stories but try to remember that they existed. They believed in a world that was offering them dreams. They believed in a world that could keep them safe and they believed in a world where they could always go home. Try to believe in that world even if it never existed and never will exist. Try to believe in a world where this type of madness has never existed and never will. Try to believe in a world where our children are safe and always will be. Try hard enough and you can almost see it over the next horizon. You can almost feel it. Peace.