One week ago today, my friend, Jason, was murdered. Last Wednesday morning, paramedics were called with a report of a man slumped over in his car. They found my friend, badly beaten, perhaps shot. His car was parked in a nice, middle class neighborhood. Aside from the obvious, there were no other signs of foul play. He was 30 years old. He was also a nice guy. So much so, that I have trouble imagining a situation in which he could anger someone enough to kill him. When I first moved to Tucson, I barely knew anyone. I'd only known Jason for a couple of days. But without hesitation, he offered to help me move into my apartment. My second floor apartment. As I write this, I'm wearing shoes that he gave me. He was that kind of guy.
In situations like this, most people struggle to find sense in what is inherently senseless. While it's happening, violence is a base, mindless thing. It's only later that people try to rationalize and justify. What was it? Money? Gang initiation? Road rage? These questions are useless.
When you strip it all away, one person will harm another for no other reason than that circumstance, or in some cases, authority, have given them an opportunity to do so.
That's it. No thought. Just predatory instinct.
When I think of this, my sense of loss is increased tenfold. It's not only the loss of my friend, but of all the potential he held.
And for me, the world is smaller and diminished.