I just want to emerge from my other project long enough to send out my deepest sympathies to the victims of the Arizona shooting. My condolences to the families of the victims who died, and prayers for healing to those who survived. Hopefully, Arizona congress member, Garbrielle Giffords, who at this writing has survived made it through surgery and was apparently the intended target of the shooter, makes a full recovery.
From what we're learning at this time, the shooter seems to have been paranoid and delusional, believing in a government conspiracy.
Unfortunately, there has been a rather disturbing and disgusting response to this shooting. Having been away from the computer much of the day, I had a lot to catch up on when I finally got on. Looking at my facebook news feed, I saw some people I know on the political right sharing stories and comments about the incident. They universally made comments of condolence, prayers and comfort to the victims while either ignoring the shooter completely, or mentioning him only to condemn him. They focused on the victims.
Then I started to see what the folks I know on the left where sharing, and I was stunned. No thoughts on the victims. No condemnation of the shooter. No, they were busily blaming the Tea Party and Sarah Palin for the shooting! One particularly vile Huffington Post article was a favourite to share and comment on. As I continued catching up on my news, I saw the same pattern everywhere. News sources and people on the left spent more time finding ways to blame the the right than anything else - especially in the comments sections. Even the more "neutral" ones still managed to bring in a TEA Party and/or Sarah Palin angle. Thankfully, I few opinion pieces and editorials were already up, condemning those who were using this tragedy to attack the right.
What is perhaps the most ironic about this is that, while the shooter was pretty open about his distrust of the current government (while rambling almost incoherently), he had been described by someone who knew him as being "far left" and "very liberal." This has been barely mentioned by anyone - and rightly so, since from his writings, his actions had little to do with partisan politics and everything to do with his one delusions. The right *could* have taken this and run with it, using it to attack the left. But they didn't. They kept the blame firmly on the shooter. Completely the opposite of what I'm seeing from the left.
It's disgusting beyond belief.
update: Names have now been made public. My condolences to the friends and family of:
U.S. District Judge John Roll (63)
Christina Green (9)
Gabe Zimmerman (30)
Dorothy Morris (76)
Dorwin Stoddard (76)
Phyllis Schneck (79)
Showing posts with label memorium. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memorium. Show all posts
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Another one gone
Once again, Death has paid a visit to my ever shrinking family. This time, it was after a long and hard fought battle against cancer. I saw my cousin at my my brother's funeral just a couple of months ago. It took a lot for him to make it, and I greatly appreciated it. Now, I will never see him again. We can't afford another trip out for the funeral. I'll have to say my good byes from a distance.
As the years go by, there's nothing strange about loosing our loved ones. The strange part is that it's been the younger generation we've been loosing. The saying goes, no parent should have to bury their own child. My aunt has now buried two children and a grandchild. My heart goes out to her and my remaining cousins. They were there for me. I so wish I could be there for them. I am in spirit, but it's just not the same.
As the years go by, there's nothing strange about loosing our loved ones. The strange part is that it's been the younger generation we've been loosing. The saying goes, no parent should have to bury their own child. My aunt has now buried two children and a grandchild. My heart goes out to her and my remaining cousins. They were there for me. I so wish I could be there for them. I am in spirit, but it's just not the same.
Monday, August 02, 2010
One Month
It's been a month.
Though we didn't know it for several days, it was a month ago that my youngest brother, the one I was closest to, was killed in an accident.
One month.
Thirty one days.
I've mentioned before in past posts that death in itself has never really bothered me. I grew up in a culture that didn't hide death away from children. My earliest memory of death is sunshine and green grass and playing among the headstones - the only memory I have in connection with my grandfather.
We went to funerals as a family. We grieved the loss of our loved ones while celebrating their lives and feeling gratitude for having them with us in the time we had. Funerals would be filled with laughter as well as tears, my brother's being no exception. As a child, I even remember posing with family members beside the open casket for photos, which would be sent back to family in the Old Country who couldn't be there. We received similar photos in return.
This time, however, is different and so much harder. Not just because this is the closest person to me that has died. Even the tragedy of his death, as horrific as it was, is not fully what's made this death more difficult. My greatest solace was learning he was killed instantly; my mind had been recoiling in horror at the thought of what his last moments would have been like otherwise, whenever the idea skittered through my consciousness until the police report came in. In the past, I've seen death due to age and illness, accident and suicide, and even murder, though that, at least, was not someone I'd known directly. As horrible as his death was, it wasn't the worst I'd encountered.
I've discussed my own death with my family. They know what I want, should I be unable to make decisions for myself. They know I want to be buried in the tiny cemetery of my home town. Mine is a small family, but the number of us represented in that cemetery has increased rather steadily over the last few years.
One of the reasons I've discussed this with them is because of the one type of death that concerns me. It's the bolt out of the blue. The sudden and unexpected. Picture one of those old cartoons, where someone is jauntily strolling down the sidewalk, whistling a merry tune, when suddenly WHAM!! an anvil drops out of the sky. No warning. No preparation. No chance to say good bye. No chance to make arrangements. One minute you're there, the next you're gone.
My brother's death was just such a bolt out of the blue. What has made it all so much more difficult is that ... well, he wasn't there. There was no casket, open or otherwise. I understand why he was cremated as soon as the coroner released his body. I understand why no one was allowed to see him (and my heart goes out to the friend who found him and identified him for the police). Still, we had a service for my brother, and he wasn't there. That wasn't my brother in that black box I at first mistook for a car battery (which seemed entirely appropriated to me, among the other mementos, and an error my brother would have found hilarious). How could that little container be my brother?
Of course, no casket meant no hearse and no funeral procession. One of my other brothers drove to the cemetery with the urn in his car. During the internment, the urn was dwarfed by the bouquets provided by the funeral home. That tiny hole in the ground was no grave. That couldn't be my brother, who loomed so large in my life, reduced to a spot so small, it was completely covered by a small wreath.
All the usual trappings that made saying good bye easier weren't there. He wasn't there. Just a small box and a photo. There was nothing tangible to grasp. There was no him.
Getting out to the funeral at all was a hurried affair, and I am eternally grateful to my in-laws for helping us make the trip. Missing my own brother's funeral would have been a heartbreak I don't know how I could have handled. We did have an overnight stop on the way out, but drove straight through on the way back. Once home, we were immediately busy preparing for an event, squeezing a week's worth of work into a few days. Then there was the event itself. Then there was something else... and something else... and something else.
Being so far from the rest of my family meant that for us, nothing changed. There was no missing presence, because he wasn't there to begin with, any more than the rest of my family is. Then suddenly I'd remember - usually while in a public place, of all things - and the wall of busyness buffering me would tremble and shudder. I'd find myself choking inside, but the tears, the grief, couldn't break through. It wasn't real.
Now, finally, the busyness is slowing down. At the same time, it's allowing the walls to finally crumble. The tears are finally flowing. The grief is finally showing.
One month later.
Though we didn't know it for several days, it was a month ago that my youngest brother, the one I was closest to, was killed in an accident.
One month.
Thirty one days.
I've mentioned before in past posts that death in itself has never really bothered me. I grew up in a culture that didn't hide death away from children. My earliest memory of death is sunshine and green grass and playing among the headstones - the only memory I have in connection with my grandfather.
We went to funerals as a family. We grieved the loss of our loved ones while celebrating their lives and feeling gratitude for having them with us in the time we had. Funerals would be filled with laughter as well as tears, my brother's being no exception. As a child, I even remember posing with family members beside the open casket for photos, which would be sent back to family in the Old Country who couldn't be there. We received similar photos in return.
This time, however, is different and so much harder. Not just because this is the closest person to me that has died. Even the tragedy of his death, as horrific as it was, is not fully what's made this death more difficult. My greatest solace was learning he was killed instantly; my mind had been recoiling in horror at the thought of what his last moments would have been like otherwise, whenever the idea skittered through my consciousness until the police report came in. In the past, I've seen death due to age and illness, accident and suicide, and even murder, though that, at least, was not someone I'd known directly. As horrible as his death was, it wasn't the worst I'd encountered.
I've discussed my own death with my family. They know what I want, should I be unable to make decisions for myself. They know I want to be buried in the tiny cemetery of my home town. Mine is a small family, but the number of us represented in that cemetery has increased rather steadily over the last few years.
One of the reasons I've discussed this with them is because of the one type of death that concerns me. It's the bolt out of the blue. The sudden and unexpected. Picture one of those old cartoons, where someone is jauntily strolling down the sidewalk, whistling a merry tune, when suddenly WHAM!! an anvil drops out of the sky. No warning. No preparation. No chance to say good bye. No chance to make arrangements. One minute you're there, the next you're gone.
My brother's death was just such a bolt out of the blue. What has made it all so much more difficult is that ... well, he wasn't there. There was no casket, open or otherwise. I understand why he was cremated as soon as the coroner released his body. I understand why no one was allowed to see him (and my heart goes out to the friend who found him and identified him for the police). Still, we had a service for my brother, and he wasn't there. That wasn't my brother in that black box I at first mistook for a car battery (which seemed entirely appropriated to me, among the other mementos, and an error my brother would have found hilarious). How could that little container be my brother?
Of course, no casket meant no hearse and no funeral procession. One of my other brothers drove to the cemetery with the urn in his car. During the internment, the urn was dwarfed by the bouquets provided by the funeral home. That tiny hole in the ground was no grave. That couldn't be my brother, who loomed so large in my life, reduced to a spot so small, it was completely covered by a small wreath.
All the usual trappings that made saying good bye easier weren't there. He wasn't there. Just a small box and a photo. There was nothing tangible to grasp. There was no him.
Getting out to the funeral at all was a hurried affair, and I am eternally grateful to my in-laws for helping us make the trip. Missing my own brother's funeral would have been a heartbreak I don't know how I could have handled. We did have an overnight stop on the way out, but drove straight through on the way back. Once home, we were immediately busy preparing for an event, squeezing a week's worth of work into a few days. Then there was the event itself. Then there was something else... and something else... and something else.
Being so far from the rest of my family meant that for us, nothing changed. There was no missing presence, because he wasn't there to begin with, any more than the rest of my family is. Then suddenly I'd remember - usually while in a public place, of all things - and the wall of busyness buffering me would tremble and shudder. I'd find myself choking inside, but the tears, the grief, couldn't break through. It wasn't real.
Now, finally, the busyness is slowing down. At the same time, it's allowing the walls to finally crumble. The tears are finally flowing. The grief is finally showing.
One month later.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Remembering a hero
Thirty years ago, Terry Fox began his attempt to run across Canada. He died before he could finish the trek, but accomplished his goal, to raise $1million for cancer research, many times over. His spirit continues to inspire.
It was 30 years ago today.
Marathon of Hope: Your memories of Terry Fox
Anniversary of Terry Fox's Marathon of Hope.
(h/t Dr. Roy)
It was 30 years ago today.
Marathon of Hope: Your memories of Terry Fox
Anniversary of Terry Fox's Marathon of Hope.
(h/t Dr. Roy)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A loss to the entire world.
No other person on earth today, perhaps in history, is responsible for saving so many human lives. Chances are, if you have eaten today, it's thanks to Norman Borlaug.
Humanity has lost a great hero.
From Reason.com
... elsewhere
Also
Humanity has lost a great hero.
From Reason.com
Norman Borlaug, the man who saved more human lives than anyone else in history, has died at age 95. Borlaug was the Father of the Green Revolution, the dramatic improvement in agricultural productivity that swept the globe in the 1960s. For spearheading this achievement, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1970.
... elsewhere
Agricultural scientist Norman Borlaug died. Even though he won the Nobel Peace Prize, he was never a household name. He should be because you could argue he saved more people than anyone else in Human history. How? His grain research improved crop yields that helped nations like India and Pakistan feed their growing populations.
Also
"One of his favourite quotes was: 'Reach for the stars. Although you will never touch them, if you reach hard enough, you will find that you get a little star dust on you in the process.'"
Friday, September 11, 2009
Remember
Let us always remember. Not just the tragedy of this day. We need to remember that there are still those, like the terrorists who commited suicide to accomplish this, who would gladly see it done again.
It isn't over yet.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
RIP Fawcett, Jackson and McMahon
It's been a week of iconic losses.
First, Ed McMahon passed away a couple days ago, at age 86. I was just barely getting used to the idea that Farrah Fawcett had succumbed to cancer at age 62 today, when my husband told me that Michael Jackson had died, too, and only 50 years of age.
A whole lot of entertainment history in just those three names.
First, Ed McMahon passed away a couple days ago, at age 86. I was just barely getting used to the idea that Farrah Fawcett had succumbed to cancer at age 62 today, when my husband told me that Michael Jackson had died, too, and only 50 years of age.
A whole lot of entertainment history in just those three names.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
A great loss this tuesday.
No, I'm not talking about yesterday's election.
Michael Crichton, dead at 66
Michael Crichton dies of cancer
Damn. We've lost a great mind and an amazing talent.
Michael Crichton, dead at 66
Michael Crichton dies of cancer
Crichton died Tuesday in Los Angeles at age 66 after privately battling cancer.
John Wells, executive producer of "ER" called the author "an extraordinary man. Brilliant, funny, erudite, gracious, exceptionally inquisitive and always thoughtful.
"No lunch with Michael lasted less than three hours and no subject was too prosaic or obscure to attract his interest. Sexual politics, medical and scientific ethics, anthropology, archaeology, economics, astronomy, astrology, quantum physics, and molecular biology were all regular topics of conversation."
Damn. We've lost a great mind and an amazing talent.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
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