Check out this site …
http://www.gunguys.com/?cat=9
… then I’ll tell you some stories of my own.
My life and my psyche have been scarred by gun violence.
The first tragedy hit when I was a young mother; my daughters were just starting elementary school. Since it was a private Catholic school, I worked part-time to pay the tuition. I would drop them off at school, go to work, and pick them up from school so we could all go home together.
Idyllic, right?
Well, just a few short months after I had changed jobs, a gunman made his way into my previous workplace, going on a rampage and shooting up as many men as got in his way before finally killing himself. Interestingly, he left the women alone.
These men who were shot down like dogs were not faceless strangers to me; they were friends and fellow parishioners just trying to earn their livings and take care of their families. I also knew the
ashen-faced women, left speechless and trembling in shock and awe of the horror … of the wanton carnage and bloodshed they had witnessed.
While I knew many of the fallen men, one of those tragic deaths struck far too close to home: it was our friend and neighbor who lived just one house down from our next-door neighbor. We would see him and his family at the school, at church, at the grocery store; we would chat and wave when any of us were walking our dogs or mowing our immaculately-groomed lawns. While we felt closer to some of the families that lived in the homes adjacent to ours, it was not out of the question for us to stop by each other’s homes from time to time to see how everyone was doing or to borrow a cup of sugar. One moment, he was there with and among us, providing for and rearing his young family; the next moment, he was gone. He was a big, powerful Irishman whose death seemed incongruous with his seeming invulnerability. His murder shattered the lives of his wife and five children, four boys and (the latest addition) a girl.
Within a year or so of that massacre, another gunman loosed his frustration in a shooting spree at an area Catholic grade school. He murdered a priest and shot a young teacher, sending a clear message that not even our children were safe, not even in Catholic school. Five or so years later, that teacher came to my daughters’ school. The students were horrified to see that the teacher, who was right handed, had lost much of the use of that forearm and hand. She had to wear a brace on that forearm and had to do everything left-handed. But she at least had survived the shooting.
Fast forward to when I was running my own business to put my daughters through college. I was responsible not only for the business of getting the work done on time and to my own exacting standards, but I also found myself acting as life coach and mentor to many of the people, young and old, who worked for me. An introvert, I tend to have many acquaintances but very few real friends. One of the people I did become very attached to was my lovely and sweet young friend, whom I’ll call Sue.
I soon learned that Sue’s work-day with me started AFTER she had spent the day at a full-time job. Sometimes, when I would ask Sue to work, she'd decline so that she could attend bible study. Out of sympathy for her hectic schedule, I used to fix her a dinner plate before she’d leave. It was such fun serving her things she had never eaten before ... I was gratified to see her try everything, only leaving food she just didn't like.
Sue was one of those people I learned to rely on through thick and thin. She could get the job done quickly and well; I felt safe delegating anything to her. She saved my hide many times.
Not surprisingly, a nice young man had been crazy about Sue since they were both kids; she loved him, too. He begged her to marry him, so she did. As a surprise for Sue, her husband had arranged for their entire house to be renovated during their first vacation together--a delayed honeymoon--in sunny Phoenix. As they were sipping drinks and sunning themselves by their hotel pool, they were unaware of the drama unfolding at the close-by convenience store--a drama that would change both of their lives forever. A man had gone into the convenience store to rob it, and a local vigilante who wanted to play hero that day tried to shoot out the tires of the get-away vehicle, just like they do on TV. Nice sentiment … except that one of the bullets ricocheted and struck Sue in the jaw, killing her instantly.
Just like our neighbor, Sue was there one minute--vibrant, full of joy and anticipation for her life as a newlywed--and gone in the blink of an eye.
I will never forget seeing her husband afterward. He was so destroyed that he was incoherent … he was beside himself … the only way he could be brought to the funeral was in a wheelchair because he had lost all capacity to support himself … all he could do was to sit there and babble “Sue … Sue ….” To add to the surreal scene, an IV attached to his wheelchair was feeding medications into his arm …
probably tranquilizers, I imagined. I had never seen anyone so completely devastated. People were lined up (like when a president dies) to make their way in to the funeral home. The only way that we could all exit was to walk past the casket--it was heart-wrenching, throwing salt onto the gaping, open wound. The people coming out were in tears and complete silence ... holding each other up ... including my husband and me.
Just remembering this horrible experience brings me to tears. I don’t know whether Sue’s widower ever fully recovered emotionally from that awful blow. Within the same year, my husband and I had attended Sue’s wedding and her funeral.
But, hey, this is America--so what if two more lives have been destroyed by guns?
I would have thought we were safe when we retired to the boondocks … way down south in Dixie.
Not so.
Carolyn, our bank teller, was a pretty young woman that my husband would make a special point of stopping by to see. I used to tease him that he had a crush on her; if he had, I couldn’t have blamed him. She was as good-hearted as she was beautiful.
Too bad she had a jealous ex who decided she wasn’t being faithful enough to him, so he blew her away.
Bang.
He spent a few months in jail ... as we all know, in America, a
woman's life ain’t worth more than a few months in jail ...
Goodbye, Carolyn … it was nice knowing you.
And we're worried that our soldiers don't have body armor??? I THINK BODY ARMOR SHOULD BE REQUIRED ATTIRE IF YOU'RE AN AMERICAN ...
Maybe we need to issue body armor to immigrants to this country and post a sign on our borders: Welcome to America … DUCK!!
