According to wordpress, this is the 700th post to this blog.
Today is also the day when the 700th American since the Sandy Hook Elementary massacre will die of gunfire. The number as of this morning is 695, but with an average between 24 and 25 people a day dying as a result of gunfire, the odds are that by the time you read this that terrible milepost will be past.
I’ve said before that I’m not shutting up about this anytime soon, and that is a vow I’m going to keep. The NRA is doubling down on their madness, refusing to even allow guns that have been voluntarily surrendered to be destroyed; this sort of a devotion to a fetish can only be described as pathological, and it is a threat to the health of us all.
Last night I held Julia’s son and sang him to sleep; lullaby time is my favorite, those minutes, in fact, among the most precious moments I have lived on this Earth. It is difficult to express the complex and powerful feelings I experience other than to say that what I thought was love and joy before I met Baby Tony turned out to be premonitions of the real thing. In the past weeks events have forced me to contemplate the unimaginable and think unthinkable thoughts about what the loss of the most precious person in the world to the careless violence of our mad world might feel like, and my mind reeled around a void. Knowing that countless souls have been hurled into that terrifying despair over 700 times in the past twenty seven days is unacceptable, except that it is an undeniable fact.
700 undeniable facts.