Thursday, February 10, 2011

Gabrielle Gifford

I had the opportunity to head down to Tucson again today, showing a friend that fair Arizona City.  I know a little bit about Tucson, having lived there.  It's a western town, clinging to it's cowboy roots, filled with traditions of Spanish and Indian influence. The entire city is surrounded by gorgeous, sculptured mountains and azure blue skies, scrubby mesquite trees and rolling desert foothills.  It was a joy to relive some of those good times.

And then, in my same neighborhood, where I bought groceries, took my sons for frozen yogurt and stopped to greet neighbors at the local pizza parlor after a kid's baseball game, there, was the spot. The spot where the lunatic shot Gabrielle Gifford and 9 other people.

The pit I had in my stomach is indescribable. How strange to see a place that held such fond memories for me, to be such a horrific crime scene. A lone fire truck stood homage to the carnage that took place there nearly a month ago. People of Tucson will not forget.

No comments: