A mother’s son

I keep thinking about his mother.

How she must be beating herself up. Wondering where she went wrong. Perhaps even resenting her son for ending his life after she worked so hard to give it to him.

I keep thinking about a city I love and the University that is beloved by practically everyone in it. A University I’ve come to respect and appreciate.

I keep thinking about how I’d been planning to go to that library with my 1-year-old son to get a book these past few weeks. How I might have gone this week if I hadn’t been out of town visiting my own mother.

I keep thinking about the rage I would feel if anyone ever tried to take my son from me. The rage I would feel if he ever endangered or took someone else’s precious life.

And this is probably a weird point to dwell on, but the fact that it all ended in a library – Libraries have always been sanctuaries for me. Books were a safe world for me to escape to. School was safe. It still should be.

I’m angry at him and I feel sorry for him. And I am just so, so grateful no one else was hurt.

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