It was a week today. Tonight, they had the candlelight vigil. I attended with my other son, his wife, and my sister. It was actually organized by a neighbor of Glendon’s. About 150 people showed up. Many shed tears. It was a dignified and heartfelt event, and I had my sister tell the organizer we were there (but not point us out) so the participants would know how much we appreciated their effort. News media from all the local stations were there. Without identifying himself to the mourners, my younger son made a short statement during the portion of the event set aside for such things. I was very proud of him. He has been such a strength and support for me through all this.A newsman asked him his name afterward, and since he is the brother of the deceased, a piece of his statement made the news. I am absolutely shredded between pain so debilitating that I can barely think of continuing and knowing I must because I could not hurt him any more than we are already hurt.
Seeing the newscasters reporting on their broadcasts with their usual formatting of murder victims, candlelight vigils, and names of the dead with ad hoc snapshots or badge photos as a visual for the story is a familiar sight to most of us these days, especially in the U.S. Seeing Glendon’s picture and his name, the name I gave my baby boy 35 years ago, the name he will never answer to again, plastered upon my tv screen as part of the late evening news is beyond unbearable.
Throughout the day, I thought I was doing OK, but tonight, I am so far from OK that I can barely type.