Sounds of silence

Today is a day etched in my memory forever. The first of many anxiety attacks. On this day in 2017, a young man lost his life at a business just across the street from our house. I was home when it happened. Asleep on the couch with a migraine, jolted up in a panic at the sound of gunshots. The girls went crazy, barking at the danger they sensed, Grace’s black hair standing on end, pacing around me protecting her own. It had only been eight months since we had rescued them, and this was nothing they were used to hearing in our quiet little corner of the world.

I jumped up and ran to the sliding glass door. I saw him, just after the last bullet entered his chest and he fell backward to the ground. Panic ensued. People were screaming, crying, calling 911. The business owner was on top of him doing chest compressions, the shooter still at the scene. Before you knew it our yard was filled with police, emergency vehicles and news crews. Our quiet little corner shattered by violence.

That boy was just 26 years old. His life cut short in a moment of rage, in an altercation that never should have escalated the way it did. That image of him lying there will never leave my brain. It’s not something you ever expect to see in your lifetime.

It took a long time to move past the terror from that day. My Joe was instrumental in helping me. He drove me around in the middle of the night to calm my nerves more times than I can count for months after the shooting. Eventually, he put up a building in the line of sight, so when I looked out or stepped into our backyard I couldn’t see where the shooting occurred anymore.

I think of that young man every May 30th. I think about the life he missed out on, the time stolen from his family. I think about who he could have become given the chance. As a mother myself, my heart breaks for his mom and the tremendous loss she must feel without her son. I pray for comfort for his family and all who knew him, and I hope everyone who was involved has found some peace in their lives.

Tonight, when I sit in the backyard bar my sweet late husband built for us, behind the building that blocks that horrible day, the vision that was planted in my brain will still remain. My little corner of the world is quiet again, but on this day every year there is nothing left but the sound of silence.