I’LL NEVER forget the night my wife and I walked out of Einstein Hospital after visiting a sick family member and found a couple we knew outside the emergency room. They were standing in the cold January air, holding each other and crying because a family member had been murdered.
I couldn’t imagine the grief they were experiencing. My offer of prayer felt hollow, but it was all I had to give.
As of January 16, there have been 15 murders in Philadelphia, including that couples’ loved one. That’s a 42 percent drop from this time last year, according to police statistics. Still, 15 homicides is almost one per day.
Fifteen. It seems like such a small number, but suppose one those 15 victims was your father or your son. Suppose you were the one standing outside an emergency room and trying to accept the finality, the cruelty, and the pain. Suppose one of those 15 was someone you loved. Would the number still seem small? Or would it seem insurmountable?