Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Final moments, final thoughts
A 19-year-old Gettysburg College student was stabbed and strangled by who police believe to be her ex-boyfriend early this morning. I wonder what her thoughts were the evening before and if she willingly went there. Was she thinking about a test she had in a class the next day? Did he coax her to come? Were they still involved? Maybe she told him she was seeing someone new, or maybe it his rage was completely unprovoked and unexpected.
I often contemplate the thoughts that run through the minds of people in their final hours. Not so much when a woman has been battling a terminal illness for years or an elderly man knows it’s his time after living a life spanned across generations. I question the thoughts a young woman would have walking to her ex-boyfriend’s house the night before she’s going to be murdered.
A 20-year-old man was shot by his mother before she shot herself at a shooting range in Florida on Sunday. A video was released yesterday of the pair talking to bystanders before the mother raised a gun to the back of her son’s head. “I had to send my son to heaven and myself to hell,” she wrote in a suicide note. What did they talk in the car on the way to the range? Dinner, maybe.
Three police officers in Pittsburg were shot and killed last week by a man when responding to a domestic dispute. They probably approached the scene as they would any other. Perhaps some jovial banter was exchanged on the ride there. They walk through the door, and the first takes a bullet to the head.
Is time of concern to anyone the moments before they die, or is death something that just sneaks up on you when you don’t expect it? Are there feelings, sort of premonitions, that something just isn’t right today, or do you live your remaining day … 12 hours … 37 minutes as if you have 80 more years to live?
I feel creeped out every now and then, when I’m driving home from work at 1 a.m. and a tractor-trailer speeds past at 90 mph or when it’s just a little too quiet outside. “Am I going to die tonight?” I question, partly to myself. Then I stop myself from acting crazy.
I was speaking with one of my mentors a few weeks ago about life, careers and making the right choices to move both along as I’d like. “You don’t realize this now,” she said, reassuringly. “But you’re life is a lot longer than it seems now.”
For some, yes, it is.
I often contemplate the thoughts that run through the minds of people in their final hours. Not so much when a woman has been battling a terminal illness for years or an elderly man knows it’s his time after living a life spanned across generations. I question the thoughts a young woman would have walking to her ex-boyfriend’s house the night before she’s going to be murdered.
A 20-year-old man was shot by his mother before she shot herself at a shooting range in Florida on Sunday. A video was released yesterday of the pair talking to bystanders before the mother raised a gun to the back of her son’s head. “I had to send my son to heaven and myself to hell,” she wrote in a suicide note. What did they talk in the car on the way to the range? Dinner, maybe.
Three police officers in Pittsburg were shot and killed last week by a man when responding to a domestic dispute. They probably approached the scene as they would any other. Perhaps some jovial banter was exchanged on the ride there. They walk through the door, and the first takes a bullet to the head.
Is time of concern to anyone the moments before they die, or is death something that just sneaks up on you when you don’t expect it? Are there feelings, sort of premonitions, that something just isn’t right today, or do you live your remaining day … 12 hours … 37 minutes as if you have 80 more years to live?
I feel creeped out every now and then, when I’m driving home from work at 1 a.m. and a tractor-trailer speeds past at 90 mph or when it’s just a little too quiet outside. “Am I going to die tonight?” I question, partly to myself. Then I stop myself from acting crazy.
I was speaking with one of my mentors a few weeks ago about life, careers and making the right choices to move both along as I’d like. “You don’t realize this now,” she said, reassuringly. “But you’re life is a lot longer than it seems now.”
For some, yes, it is.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
My mom’s a hockey mom, too
I’ve had a week to think about McCain’s VP pick, Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin. My immediate response was confusion. “Is this a mistake? Who is Sarah Palin? I’ve never heard of her.” My second response was outrage.I was outraged that the McCain campaign tried to steal Obama’s thunder from his historic and moving speech the night before and knew immediately it was a ploy to appeal to Hillary Clinton’s supporters. As a woman, I’m highly offended.
I was proud, earlier this week, when Obama told the media to lay off Palin’s pregnant 17-year-old daughter, Bristol. At a moment when Obama’s campaign could’ve used it as fire against the McCain/Palin ticket, he and his campaign took the higher road. I was happy Obama stood by his new and refreshing method of politics. My feelings changed, however, when watching the Republican National Convention over the past couple of days.
Former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani was a disgrace. His taunting rhetoric is exactly what Obama is against. At one point in his speech, he scoffed after a small selection in the crowd started chanting a muddled message. He continued to laugh at the podium as the message became louder, out of synch and still inaudible (I think it was “zero,” referring to Obama’s experience. ‘Drill baby drill,’ was much clearer.) The audience members hooted in their cowboy hats, waving their poorly painted, drab signs, a clear indicator of just how out of touch McCain and Palin are with the issues that face America today. It reminded me of a bully picking on the new kid at school, someone who is unique and different and challenges the status quo.
Palin took stage tonight ready to “faceoff.” First she insulted and belittled the community work of Barack Obama, touting that it means more to be mayor of a small Alaskan town of 9,000 people. Second, she challenged his experience.
I felt embarrassed after watching this convention, embarrassed that a large enough percentage of our country could support another 4 years of the Republican Party, after it clearly screwed up the last 8. Its attempts to fool its supporters are pathetic and insulting.
Palin’s speech played out well over the Republican crowd. She seemed strong and tough as she threw off her gloves. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much to back it up, and I hope that shows in future appearances and debates, and I hope that she and McCain continue to insult their opponents, rather than actually laying out their message and a plan for the people of this country who desperately need to be helped. My mom is a hockey mom, too, and she raised six kids. She used to be in the PTA, but I don’t think she’s ever killed a moose.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
The things you hear when it's quiet
I met one of my neighbors the other day. I was sitting outside sanding this old desk I bought from a thrift shop, and he decided to shoot the shit with me for a good hour. He’s a professional horse shoe maker that’s in the National Guard, and he lives in the apartment above mine. He asked me what made me move to this town, and what I thought about it now that I’d been here for a while.
“It’s nice,” I said, “just different.”
He started to highlight a few key areas of the town, gesturing toward a homemade ice cream shop down the street and a local tavern a few miles up the road.
“It’s not so bad, aside from living in the center of town,” he said. “It gets noisy.”
I couldn’t believe he equated the same sounds I hear every day and night to noise. In my first few weeks of living there, I’d come home from work at night and stand outside for a few minutes. It’s amazing – the things you hear when it’s quiet. The sound of water dripping from your neighbor’s air conditioner, night creatures in the woods a few hundred yards away, a lone car zipping down Main Street at 3 a.m.
That’s not what I consider noise, but in a way, those sounds were decibels louder than a group of young kids playfully yelling while walking down Broad Street in Philly, sirens running nonstop from hospitals to fires, and even the occasional gun shot. I never minded those noises that became second nature to me in Philly. I never really noticed them or missed them until they were gone.
“It’s nice,” I said, “just different.”
He started to highlight a few key areas of the town, gesturing toward a homemade ice cream shop down the street and a local tavern a few miles up the road.
“It’s not so bad, aside from living in the center of town,” he said. “It gets noisy.”
I couldn’t believe he equated the same sounds I hear every day and night to noise. In my first few weeks of living there, I’d come home from work at night and stand outside for a few minutes. It’s amazing – the things you hear when it’s quiet. The sound of water dripping from your neighbor’s air conditioner, night creatures in the woods a few hundred yards away, a lone car zipping down Main Street at 3 a.m.
That’s not what I consider noise, but in a way, those sounds were decibels louder than a group of young kids playfully yelling while walking down Broad Street in Philly, sirens running nonstop from hospitals to fires, and even the occasional gun shot. I never minded those noises that became second nature to me in Philly. I never really noticed them or missed them until they were gone.
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