A friend died yesterday.

She didn’t have cancer.
She wasn’t even ill.
Her husband, for reasons we will probably never know, came home in the middle of the day, locked the doors and shot Andrea before turning the gun on himself.

Andrea was a beaming, joyful person from her crazy red hair to her ever-present smile down to the bottom of her lighthearted step. She was an exuberant, caring mother of four girls ranging in age from 8 down to 3. Two of the girls have been in school with Aidan and all of them went through Donna’s class.

The fear and uncertainty that I have been dancing with for the past 8 weeks is nothing, nothing, in comparison to the shock, grief and rage I feel at this complete tragedy. There is no one to explain, no one to rail at, and there is no reason in the world that I can forgive for what has been done. I cannot begin to imagine why anyone, least of all her husband, would want to do this to Andrea or to their daughters. Insanity couldn’t be enough of an excuse. I loathe the cowardice these acts reveal.

I start chemotherapy tomorrow morning. A journey towards life and light that will now be missing a friend who I was just beginning to really know.

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