safe nowhere

I am both sad and grateful.

My son is working in Philadelphia, and figuring out how to live on his own. I speak to him often, and mostly he is happy.

My mom is fine, having spent yesterday at my nephew's graduation; today she's busy playing cards with friends.

My sisters are both good, as are their families.

None of my friends are facing any serious issues, physical or otherwise.

I am healthy and reasonably okay with life.

I am living in — I suppose arguably — the best city in the world.

I live in a country that allows me to speak my mind and live life as I please.

I am lucky.

I see a mother on TV crying for answers as she looks for her son. She later discovers that he is one of  49 killed in yesterday's shooting in Orlando.

Others, too, face the pain of losing a child or friend.  All because of one person's unexplained hatred.

2,606 go to work one cloudless September day and never come home.

20, six and seven-year old children, go to school and are shot dead.

3 people are killed and many more maimed as they participate, or watch, a major sporting event.

129 people die on a relaxing Friday night in Paris.

After 911 I thought I'd never feel safe again. But time passed, and eventually I stopped worrying that a busload of terrorists was going to come barrelling down 79th St. and randomly toss a bomb inside Alexander's window.

And while I don't live my life in fear, I am much more conscious of how precious life is, and how quickly it can change.  

My heart breaks for the Orlando victims and their families. 

And I am grateful that those I love are safe tonight.  I pray they stay that way.