Here at the Burgh Blog, I sit here on the lighter side and way way way over there sits the dark side.
That’s where murders happen. That’s where little children are victimized. That’s where politicians beat the ever-loving shit out of each other over issues as small as street paving. That’s where war is. That’s where death is.
I sit over here in the sun and I don’t ever scootch over to the shadows. I just mention them from time-to-time and then sweep the horrors under the happy rug in my mind, tack it down with some double-sided tape, and never, ever let them peek out again.
I like the lighter side. I tan well here.
But while I am going about my life of ease, work, pumpkin spice and love, unspeakable suffering occurs in stories that don’t deserve to be swept under the happy rug of my mind. They deserve shouting and screaming and reminding.
It’s how I feel about this:
The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to Mr. Roberts’ home, where his wife lived with three young daughters, and to the home of his parents to embrace his family and say they held no grudges.
Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts’ burial and offered condolences to his widow, Amy.
Horrified strangers worldwide sent $4.3 million to the Nickel Mines Amish settlement in Bart, Lancaster County. But the Amish, who have no insurance, used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.
I can’t even comprehend that. But when astonishing good comes out of the unspeakably bad, that is a story that deserves to be brought out of the shadows, regardless of how painful the reminder is.
Consider yourself reminded.