Well, damn. Just found out that my cousin—or maybe nephew, it’s hard to keep track in these extended, remixed-via-remarriage families—has been murdered.
Super-nice young man. 19. Handsome. Funny. Then boom. “I’m just gonna buy some weed” apparently went (horrifically) south.
My mother, who a few years back lost a son of her own, called to give me the news. Ugh. Even having witnessed my mother’s bottomless grief, I can’t imagine his mother’s despair. Nor do I really want to. Even a vague notion and memory is scorching.
I’m not in search of sympathy for TJ’s death. I’m sadder on his mother’s and siblings’ and closer cousins’ behalf than my own. Sadder for my mother having to recall her loss, and his grandfather losing another of his fine young men. TJ and I were only “Hey! How ya’ been?!” at family Thanksgivings close. It does make me, however, reflective.
Carpe diem?
Or superflua credula postero?
You may wish to reflect as well. Are you what you want to be? Are you doing what you want to be doing? Are you creating what you want to be creating?
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