Feeling The Gunshot

Easter was super, awesome, exciting, exhausting fun. We loaded up the kids and headed home.

The way home is on The Beltline. A LONG stretch of road that cuts through farm land, forest, and city.

By the time we traveled down The Beltline in our mini-van, we were well past bedtime. My kids love staying up late.

One of them pointed out the police car ahead. Its flashing red and blue cut through the dark.

As we passed, I noticed the deer on the shoulder of the road. It lifted up its head.

We felt the police officer’s gunshot after we were passed.

I’m so glad my kids didn’t see the deer or know what they felt. The end of life. Right there on the side of the road.

But I heard that gunshot. Instantly reminded of the popping sounds at the rifle range at summer camp. The echo of a hunter’s gun in the woods. The bang from my neighbor’s house when he shot my brother in the leg over 20 years ago.

Felt the pop of air pressure. Memory of panic and isolation and loss.

“So sad.” It was all I could say.

“He had to do it, Sweetheart,” my husband said to me. “He put it out of its misery.”

I know.

Compassion doesn’t always come easy.

It seldom looks the way we wish it would.

In the van. Feeling the gunshot.

Knowing that, sometimes, mercy is all at once painful and beautiful.

Advertisements

One thought on “Feeling The Gunshot

So...What Do YOU Think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s