only oblivion, and then love.

"Emotions have their narrative; after the shock we move inevitably to the grief, and the sense that we are doing it more or less together is one tiny scrap of consolation."

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2001/sep/15/september11.politicsphilosophyandsociety2

Ian McEwan wrote that before the lives of 9/11 victims were unbelievably and unmistakeably taken by those empty of empathy, love was their weapon and their defiance. What did they say in their last moments? I love you. I love you. I love you. Individually, again and again, until the lines and waves were cut. Only love, and then oblivion.

Today and the following days, we work backwards. For days her presence was thrown unknown. They kept talking about how small she was. Every day the thoughts sank further and further. When she was found, in actuality so close--we are reminded that in the aftermath of nearly unfathomable injustice, we are to "recommit" to what this crime takes away from us--peace. Not in the sense of stillness, but of jostling to find the natural and unlikely fits between so many disparate pieces. When they've been flung with such malicious velocity, we're startled back into this original purpose of making connection. Holding candles, the wax's heat slides down against the creases of palms, and I think if I multiply this by a number higher than I can spend my lifetime counting to, I might barely understand the pain. A low hum of amazing grace, that strange melody suited for grief and joy alike, arises from this crumbly white staining our hands. Squeeze tight all that's in us, and spread this tragedy's opposite.

To A.L. and her family and friends and unknown passersby, and to our own and to each other's, we love you. Love. Love. Love.