I haven't felt much like writing these last few days, or even finding a poem to reflect the day. The loss of the 16 year old boy on Tuesday has lingered and I've not been able to completely wash off the raw pain that filled his hospital room and seeped down the hallway until it filled the entire unit with the cries of his family. It was not an unexpected death. The resulting injury from the bullet's path was non-survivable. It had crossed the midline and the swelling to the brain from the blast force pushed his brain downward herniating his brainstem which led to brain death. It was non-survivable once some young boy's index finger pushed back the trigger in a tiny increment of a second. Less time than taking a breath.
He either pulled the trigger himself or someone else pulled it. Kids playing to be men with guns not realizing the gun was loaded or perhaps some darker,more malevolent reason. Doesn't matter in the nanosecond of choice to the nanosecond of no return. In less than the length of time it takes to blink an eye, to take a breath, to think a thought another young boy's future is determined and set in place. The length of time it takes for his family to sit by his bed watching blood and brain matter seep from the bandages wrapping his head is 17 hours and 13 minutes. The recovery time for them will be without an end.
And so, borrowing a music video from V-Grrrl's post, I plan to listen to a little Lyle Lovett because I adore him and his voice is a balm for this sore heart. Thank you Miss V.