Some time ago, I spent a short time in a community where one young man beat another to death. I and a colleague brought flowers to the parents of the young man who had died. I thought of that (no surprise here) today.
To see a murdered child in a grieving parent's eye
Opens a wound at the end of memory,
Faces the blankness of road now dark
Nothing more to say, no word but sorrow,
No sorrow out of place.
For those of us who believe, let us keep the dead, and even more the living left behind, in our prayers.