At A Loss For Words

This is still so very weird to me.

And it is so not about me.

I find my days are not really occupied with thoughts of the murder or who committed it.

But at night my brain and my heart race.

I put my children to bed and I kiss them goodnight. I think that because of a choice Jose may never be able to do this with his children again.

I lay in my bed and I try to put myself in his shoes. I cannot. What made him so angry? What made him break?

What made him become someone I never, ever, knew?

I see that horrendous picture of him and it is not the man I knew. Except for the glasses. Jose ALWAYS had glasses that never really "sat" on his face correctly.

It occupies my quiet time.

It surrounds my mind.

It breaks my heart.

I try to describe the man I knew. I try to tell people about the Jose who I met as a 12 year old and who asked about me and my children consistently.

I want to tell them about one of the kindest souls I knew.

I want them to understand that this man was good.

I want them to see the man I saw that night at the Easter Vigil with my friends. The man we supported when he chose to become Catholic.

But I cannot find the words.

They are there but I am trying to come up with words to convince people that the Jose I knew was NOT a murderer.

Except he is.

And this is not about me but I cannot get it out of my mind and my heart.