35.

35 – Standing in the beech grove, listening to the soft rain and the creaking of the branches, my heart ached for the victims in Florida, for their families, for all the lost dreams. It made no sense. So much pain and suffering. Senseless loss.
 
And then a memory of sitting with Herb while he was waiting for a radiation treatment popped into my head. It was one of those memories I avoided, so sad, excruciating.
 
Herb was pretty down but doing his best to be brave and then he saw them, the line of wagons bringing the young children, toddlers really, by the waiting area. Nurses pushed the wagons with the multiple IV poles and the beautiful sick children, babies really, beloved kids.
 
Herb started to weep and then he was sobbing. I took his hand and after enduring such horrible surgeries, weeks of radiation and chemo, and knowing his cancer was terminal, he said, “I’m 56. I’m okay. I’ve known life, a good life. They don’t even know what normal life is. They may never know.”
 
And that’s the thing about those who died in the shooting, in all the shootings. People’s loves and dreams gone. Children. People’s children….

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