Yesterday started out beautifully. My best friend, Melissa, had come to visit me in San Francisco for the weekend and we boarded an 8:00 am tour bus, bound for Monterey, Carmel and a handful of other places. The sun was out, the sky was blue and beauty surrounded us at literally every turn on our nearly 12 hour tour.
Toward the end of the day, blue skies turned to gray, in more than one way. A mass shooting happened in Gilroy, California, the world's largest producer of garlic. A tragedy, in and of itself, but brought even more close to home as it was to be one of our tour's stops that day. From the beginning of the day to nearly the end, our bus driver spoke of the infamous Gilroy Garlic Festival where one could feast on garlic ice cream, garlic fries and other garlic-infused treats. He joked about all of us saving room for dessert after lunch in Monterey as we would be stopping, time permitting, at the festival at the end of the day.
Thank God time did not permit. Between departing Monterey and Carmel a bit later than expected and very bad traffic which our driver said NEVER happens on Sunday evening), we reached Gilroy later than expected, with a long drive ahead of us. Our driver, being a man of his word, took a vote, asking who wanted to stop. It was a resounding No, even though Melissa and I really wanted to say yes. But we weren't going to be the ones who said yes when everyone else said no so we stayed quiet.
A little while later we saw an ambulance on the highway, but going the opposite direction. Then we saw a cop car, then another, then another. They came in waves, over a period of 10 to 15 minutes, so many that we lost count. Many of the bus were dumbfounded as to what it could be. A bad accident? A police chase? No one ever, in a million years, could have guessed what it truly was.
Finally a man from India looked up the news on his phone, only to find that the festival was the target of a mass shooting with at least 3 people dead and 15 shot. Soon we saw at least 3 ambulances, on the same side of the road as us, heading in the same direction. Putting 2 and 2 together, we realized they were coming from the crime scene, with victims on board.
The situation was completely surreal; Melissa and I were stunned. We instantly thanked God, knowing that He alone saved us from a mass shooting. But the gravity of the situation began to move in slowly yet steadily as the fog does here in San Francisco. But even now, as I watch the story playing constantly on the local news, I don't think it's fully hit me.
An event like this should be life changing. I should spend every.single.second being grateful for every breath, for everything that happens. Life is fragile, life is fleeting. At any time, it could be over. Little things should no longer get to me. I should be forgiving, patient, kind, overlooking the small things. Because they are all small things right?
Well, I for sure appreciate life more than I did two days ago, so I am taking baby steps. I would like to say that all the above also applies, but it I'm human and kind of stuck in my ways, to a degree, so those things are probably going to be a bit harder to change. But does it count if I WANT to change? I think it should, not just for me, but for every single one of us.
We are impacted for a time, I think, then we forget. We forget about how close we were to peril. We forget how it felt. Then we go right back to being impatient, unforgiving, cold, non-compassionate. We simply return to being human. I want it to be different this time.
It Could Have Been Us
