GEORGE

George died today.

I heard the five or six gunshots as I stood on the side patio of my usually quiet residential area home. I didn’t have to wait for the ten o’clock news to confirm my suspicions as to what had happened--even though I was a half mile or so away.

A few moments later as I stood at the kitchen sink and peeled five pounds of potatoes for dinner, I could hear the sirens of police and emergency vehicles as they raced to the site of the shooting to try to save George’s life.

My seventeen year old daughter walked into the kitchen to tell me she was leaving to pick up a couple of friends that were coming to dinner. She didn’t understand why I hugged her and told her to please be careful as she left the house. As the rest of the dinner guests arrived, they didn’t understand why I hugged each one of them as they came through the door.

When we sat down to dinner, I couldn’t help thinking about George’s family. They were probably doing the same, and wondering what was keeping George--why was he so late today of all days? I could imagine their phone ringing with the news, and all of them leaving the table with their food untouched as they rushed off to the hospital to be with George in his final moments.

Why such a senseless death? There is no real answer as to why George died today. When the gunman was caught not too far away from the scene of the shooting, he was intoxicated. Narcotics were found in his vehicle. When asked why he shot George, he didn’t know why--he and his girlfriend had just had a fight. For some reason, George made him even angrier while they were both driving down the road. George paid the price.

But not just George. His family and friends, too. Today is Thanksgiving. A time to be with family and friends. George had just gotten off work and was on his way to meet the rest of his family at his Grandmother’s house when he was shot and killed. They will no longer remember Thanksgiving as a time to celebrate the gathering of friends and family. George’s family will always remember Thanksgiving as the day George died.

I never met George. I don’t even know what he looks like. I do know he was only eighteen and a college student that planned on going to medical school. He wanted to do cancer research. He wanted to make life easier for all the people suffering from the disease. George won’t have that chance now. He’ll never discover the cure for the disease that claimed his Grandfather’s life ten years ago.

George could have been my brother or your son. Those of us that never met George will never know what kind of man he would have turned out to be had he lived. His mother will never see him graduate from medical school. His younger brother will never be best man at the wedding George and his fiancee were planning to have in April. George’s son has not been born yet. He will never know his father. George will never get to see his son grow up.

Where does it all end? In this day and age of television and movies it seems as though most characters--good or bad--carry a gun and use it freely. Our children grow up seeing violence on the news and in their neighborhoods as well as at the movies and on TV, and have become accustomed to witnessing these events. In some cases, the difference between fact and fiction is not explained to them, and if someone "gets in their way," hey--shoot em--what’s the difference? Does it really matter that that person could be someone’s son, daughter, mother, father, sister, brother, aunt or uncle? It matters a great deal! As much as we would like to, we can’t put our children into a bubble and protect them from such violence. We can explain that there are alternatives to anger other than carrying a gun and using it just because someone made them mad or cuts them off in traffic. Violence is not the answer to violence. So what is the answer? I don’t know, but maybe someone out there does know....