My 57-year-old neighbor lost his life in a heinous crime that has left our community reeling. The sound woke me from a deep sleep, but I really didn’t think much about it at the time. I listened just long enough to confirm it wasn’t coming from inside the house, then rolled over and went back to sleep. And why not? I live in a wonderful, family-friendly area where the spirited sounds of youth regularly stream through the bedroom window at night. There was nothing to worry about. Everyone was safe.
It wasn’t until the next day, when my children and their classmates were making their way home from school through a swarm of policemen, reporters, and crime-scene tape that I realized what had happened: I’d heard the sound of senseless violence, the sound of death, and the worst to me personally, the sound of my children’s sanctuary — their neighborhood and their home and their refuge from all scary things — crumbling away.
I know with time and patience and love we’ll find peace, but for now the noise that I discounted so easily the other night keeps looping through my head.
And it’s deafening.
Originally posted on Medium.
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