There is a strange echo this morning.
One year ago today, I woke up to a radio telling me about a death in my city. I am not a callous person, but I am, unfortunately, somewhat used to hearing about violence. But this one unnerved me for some reason. Maybe it was because it was on a street that I frequent, that I used to live near and that my friends still live on.
And then I got up and went online and read both rumours and reports. People I knew were talking about mourning, but not saying for whom. The violence was hitting close to home.
And then I saw his name, everywhere.
One year later, once again, I see Raymond’s name all over my Facebook feed, in news stories, in blog posts. I hear his name on the radio once again, and on television. But this time, he is smiling.
One year later, as I write this, there are people on Gottingen Street remembering Raymond. They are trying to remember everything that happened before he died, because it’s too difficult to think of the how and the why. Because those things don’t make sense.
Right now, I would rather think of him in those ways. I would rather see Raymond’s smiling face than walk over and around where they found him. I would rather think of the good he did than the unfortunate way he died. I’d rather remember all the people who came out, the hundreds who sat silently in prayer and reflection, who spoke quietly and who sang loudly one year ago today.
I will remember good things. Because that’s what he would want.