Perspective

Eight days ago, a man, who clearly wasn't in his right mind, walked into a local cafe in the University District and shot four people. Two men died immediately. Another woman died later at the hospital. The cook who was shot three times, miraculously survived. One man sitting at the bar with his friends was saved simply because he went to the restroom seconds before the shooting. His friend who took his seat while he was gone wasn't so lucky. Not 30 minutes later, the same shooter car-jacked a woman downtown, a married mother of two, pistol-whipped her, shot her at point-blank range, and ran over her legs after stealing her car while she lay there dying in the parking lot. Two women and a homeless man came to her aid, but could only comfort her in her last moments. As the police surrounded him that afternoon miles away  in West Seattle, he knelt down and shot himself. He died at the hospital that evening. Six days earlier, a father of two was killed just driving through an intersection near my neighborhood by a bullet meant for someone else. His parents and his children were in the car with him.

I've driven by that cafe hundreds of times. I drive through that intersection in my neighborhood at least twice a week. These weren't incidents of 2am gang violence. They were horrific tragedies that took place in broad daylight that suddenly brought perspective to regular people going about our day. The victims could've been anyone and, in fact, they were. And I know ‛regular' people die every day from random stuff like this, but Seattle has seemed relatively safe. The Capitol Hill Massacre almost exactly six years ago would say differently because it feels eerily similar and as horrifically sad as last week's shooting. And this shooting, by all definitions, was a massacre which stunned the city, left us all in shock for a couple of days while we mourned for strangers we didn't know, debated second amendment rights in general as well as for the mentally ill, didn't get any work done because we kept reading the next story about the victims, the people who knew them, and looking at pictures from every memorial service across the city.

Now more than a week later, people are back to living their lives, as well they should. Of course the friends and family of the victims are still grieving. I drove by today and the cafe still looks closed though the flowers and candles have multiplied exponentially. People were standing outside reading the letters to the victims and letters of outrage that cover the windows. It's a sobering sight. And it wouldn't be a proper tragedy if the Westboro Baptist Church wasn't planning to picket at the funeral of the mother of two because they think every negative situation in the world is the fault of homosexuality and because they're simply hateful and disrespectful asshats who Jesus would vehemently reprimand for being lousy human beings if he ever met them in person. But I digress..

You can't constantly live in fear. Nothing is guaranteed - especially life, which death is apart of. You have to keep moving forward as if you'll have another tomorrow, but you should, of course, appreciate today. Live in the moment. Tell those you love that you do indeed love them.. because you never know. Airplanes crash. So do cars. Hell, cannibalism is suddenly a thing. Who knew? And crazy fucking people shoot innocent people all the time. It sucks.. but it happens.

So I'm sure you don't need the reminder, but I'm going to say it anyway. Call your mom and tell her you love her. Just because. Send your grandmother a card. In the mail. Call a friend you haven't seen in a while. Don't text. Forgive someone who slighted you. Because in the big picture, it really doesn't matter.

Reach out. Hold on. Breathe in. Love.