Is Horrible Violence the New Norm?

The crime in the city in which I live now is so much worse than it was where I came from.  Most of the crime from home was domestic assault and burglary.  I think on average, a pharmacy would get held up at least once a week by someone looking for prescription drugs.  You'd hear of gun violence, but it wasn't often and it certainly wasn't happening to people minding their own business, walking down the street or going about their daily lives.  Granted, I came from a place with some of the lowest violence stats in the nation. So, anywhere I moved to would feel dangerous.  But here, every day, there are horrible stories of violence. Murder is a common story on the evening news. Murder, always. Shootings, shootings and more shootings; hold ups, drive-by, walk-by, run-by... whatever you can do with a gun, it's happening here.  For a two week stretch, there were shootings every day and bodies turning up all over the place with gunshot wounds. Seemingly random, awful things were happening.  Some gang related, but some not. There was a day where three people were shot in one morning, within a three hour time frame. Then there are the stranglings, the missing women feared dead, the bodies that occasionally float up to the surface of some river or bog.  Oh, don't for get the machete attacks, or just regular knife attacks.  The car jackings.  Hmmm what am I forgetting?  Oh yes, my personal favorite, the home invasions. I'm certain there are other horrible things that I can't recall; or subconsciously choose not to.What the hell is going on here? How do people become such animals where they are capable of such behavior?  Of taking someone else's life?  Of hurting another so viciously?  There is no regard for the life of another!  How can that be?

Life- it's such a gift, such a precious thing.  The loves we have worked so hard at and cultivated to near perfection.  The routines of our lives so comfortable and familiar. The careers we've worked so hard at, the families we've raised, the weddings, birthdays, holidays... hell, EVERYDAY that we are given.  Such a GIFT!  Such a gift.  And to have it taken by the horrible and selfish act of another?  Well, I just can't even begin to comprehend it.  The stakes are so high the impact so deep.  I can't comprehend it.

I think about my family's safety a lot, as well as my own.   The odds of us being victims of a crime are greater now than they used to be. It scares the shit out of me.

Lighthouses and Mud Flats

My life is so foreign to me, lately.  What I thought it might be is not at all what it is.  That's not a bad thing; it just "is".  Our daughter is now 18 mos.  Our miracle baby.  Full of fire and life and energy and chutzpah. She yells and cries and laughs and runs and plays and melts my heart every day.  We moved 18 hours away from our families to begin a new life in new state, in a strange city.  As the excitement of the "new" fades a little, the separation from all that was familiar starts to ache.  I miss my family and my work friends. Very much. And though I don't miss many things about where I came from, I miss the smell of the ocean.  I do.  And even one or two of those unwelcomed cold misty days in the summer where shorts and a t shirt aren't an option and you curse the weather gods for giving you such shit weather in July.  I am finding my new home very enjoyable. So many good things about it.  But by leaving, I now realize that my soul is made up of the salt water that laps the shores, the fog horns that blow at night; which I could hear from my house, the Italian sandwiches with extra tart pickles from Amato's, the smell of the crunchy leaves being raked into bags in the fall, the taste of fresh sweet summer lobster, the drive from my house to my Mom's house that I have made thousands of time, the smell of her kitchen and the sound of her wind chimes. The image of her always waving from her front porch as I drove away after a visit. It's part of my DNA, my genetic makeup.  I can't change it any easier than I can change my green eyes or left handedness. It's what I know and who I am.  I am a stranger in a new land now.  A transplant. All the tastes and smells and sounds of this place are new to me. Admittedly, it's a wonderful feeling to have my senses awakened again by a new world.  And yet, it makes me long for what I knew so well.

I understand now, why people move away and then find their way back eventually.  It's because their soul needs the salt air to survive; whether they like it or not.  It's because they long to hear that horrible accent again and use the word "wicked" among others who use it, too.  And not only use it, but use it correctly.  It's not their choice. They have no choice.  It's who they are.  And though you can move elsewhere, it's always gonna call to you. Perhaps only in the smallest way in the deepest corner of your heart.  But, it will always call out to you and beckon you home.