Until 3p today I hadn’t been much online. I slept late, got dressed and out the door in 30 minutes. Emma and I met up with my uncle & aunt for breakfast, we all talked until 1p. Then I took Emma to places so she could shop, we came back to the vacation rental cottage to have a wee kip before she and I left to collect Thomas, with whom we had plans for dinner and photos.
It was during this siesta I read the news from Orlando (and of the arrest in L.A., and the safe-wishes of friends from afar). Emma was asleep. I scrolled up and down, shaking. What the fuck? I was going to nap, 20 minutes after slugging 6 ounces of coffee, but I couldn’t, just – what? Emma walks to the door of my room at 3.45 and I tell her of the news. I’m suddenly sobbing, stammering.
I cry and babble “why, Emma? Why does it matter who we want to have sex with? Why does this bother anybody we’re not fucking?”
My mother wraps her arms around me, murmuring terms of endearment she has used since I was small. Oh babe, oh, love. Words I might say sotto voce to someone in my bed. But from her, without judgment, without any hesitation, these words how she soothes me, her 41-year-old grown child, daily confused by illogical, senseless murders.
Edit: when first posted, the articles I read stated the gunman was in custody. Later, I read he was killed in a shootout w/police.
An hour or so later, we are drier-eyed. She says, “I hope they string him up in a public square.”
I reply, “Not me, that’s too easy.”
I call the hexes of a thousand sadists. I call the misfortune of longevity. I call this murderer’s mind to clarity, under no cover of psychosis, so he can grasp what he did.
May he forever desire an easy, comforting embrace. Let no touch so much as brush him. Let no comfort, no joy. Let nothing but pure awareness.
Forgiveness is difficult.
I grieve for and with all those strangers that refer to me as Family with no hesitation.
And I you, the same. Family. Without hesitation.