The more socially acceptable name for this atrocity is domestic violence , but I call it murder . Domestic images are ones of homemade cookies and children tucked safely in their beds, not of blood stained sheets and gunpowder burns. Any loss of human life is a tragedy, but the severity of the blow is harsher when another snuffs out a precious life. With one self-centered act, the murderer makes many victims. The grief is compounded and multiplied through a trial, where the vivid images are repeated over and again and become a living hell.
Indefensible lies fly through the air.
There is no personal control. There is financial burden, isolation, anger, nightmares, an internal unobserved quivering, and the dimming of the sunniest days. Reminders of the loss are everywhere. Television commercials remind us to call home on Mother's Day. No more birthday calls, Easter egg hunts, or spontaneous picnics by the lake.