The Happy Wholesome Addendum
The thing I didn't tell you about the wounded French woman whose baby was murdered by a New Orleans inner city youth was that the events of that day changed her life. You would say how obvious is that? and I would concede pretty obvious but what she did in response to her loss is what haunts me and is the reason for this addendum. She stayed behind. While her husband continued with his plans to move abroad she stayed here in New Orleans for over a year and joined local groups which address the issues that contribute to such crimes as the one which rocked her world. And she lectured and looked for meaning where there is none and she cried at night making ghastly sounds that no one heard and at some point, with or without that popular emotional concept known as closure, she moved on, geographically, away from here. I never knew her but I cannot forget her. I've never felt her pain, to the degree she must have felt pain, yet I sometimes tear up when I think about her. And unashamedly I write about her and the rest of it to get it out of my system, for my own damn good, because once I started writing about such things I find not writing about it too painful, and counter-productive to that happy and wholesome carefree life to which I aspire.
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The thing I didn't tell you about the wounded French woman whose baby was murdered by a New Orleans inner city youth was that the events of that day changed her life. You would say how obvious is that? and I would concede pretty obvious but what she did in response to her loss is what haunts me and is the reason for this addendum. She stayed behind. While her husband continued with his plans to move abroad she stayed here in New Orleans for over a year and joined local groups which address the issues that contribute to such crimes as the one which rocked her world. And she lectured and looked for meaning where there is none and she cried at night making ghastly sounds that no one heard and at some point, with or without that popular emotional concept known as closure, she moved on, geographically, away from here. I never knew her but I cannot forget her. I've never felt her pain, to the degree she must have felt pain, yet I sometimes tear up when I think about her. And unashamedly I write about her and the rest of it to get it out of my system, for my own damn good, because once I started writing about such things I find not writing about it too painful, and counter-productive to that happy and wholesome carefree life to which I aspire.
- jimlouis 2-13-2002 7:04 pm