I volunteer in the Emergency Room.
I hope that it doesn't get too busy--not because I don't like doing work, or don't want to do anything, but because if the Emergency Room gets busy, it means that people are getting hurt more often.
Despite my wishes, the flow of the ER picked up around 10 AM yesterday when I was volunteering.
The man who was brought in probably didn't know that he would pop up in my mind for the rest of the day. He was a skinny African-American man, late 60s to early 70s. He was bleeding severely from a bullet wound to the thigh. Right or left leg, I can't remember, but there was a seemingly impossible amount of blood.
That image itself is burned into my mind, but the echoing words of his distraught family haunted me for the rest of the day, and probably will for a while.
"He was on his way to work... If someone wanted to steal something from him, they could've just pushed him over! He's old and frail... Why did they have to shoot him?"
It's a good question. It also makes me want to do something. I've been thinking for 24 hours and 44 minutes approximately... And I have nothing.
What can I do to solve violence?
