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I heard the story earlier today, but I didn’t listen and I didn’t turn on the news.  But, as we were finishing up dinner, hubby flipped on the national news.  And I experienced the horror that comes with such a story to the absolute extent one can when not directly impacted.  I don’t know the club, I don’t know the victims.  I don’t want to know about the killer.  In this country, we always know the name of the killer.  It seems to be part of our culture that we have to know the names of the horrible people who perpetrate horrible deeds.  Even living just outside of Charleston, the names of the Emanuel 9 are no longer known to me.  But I know the name Dylan Roof.

The scope of this tragedy is told by the disposition of the victims.  And what I mean by that is that, as of this writing, they remain in the club, unidentified.

Fifty people lost.  Lying more than 12 hours after being brutally and heartlessly killed, unidentified on a barroom floor.

Killed for who they loved.  Killed for who they were attracted to.

Killed because we, as a society, are not doing a good job raising our children.

We are allowing hate to win.  We are allowing our children to believe that it’s ok to hate.  Hate women.  Hate Gays.  Hate the mentally ill.

We need to find a way to turn this around.  We need to find a way to take back our children from hate groups like Isis.  We need to show our children that they shouldn’t have hate, real hate, in their hearts for anyone.

I don’t believe gun laws are the way.  If someone wants a gun, they will get it, legally or not.

I believe that education is the way.  Parents and schools have to find a way to keep our childrens hearts from being blackened by hate.

No one else should ever lay on a barroom floor dead and unidentified.

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