I’ve been going through Flickr and looking at old pictures of Ava today, trying to cleanse my mind. I’ve been gazing at her small, wrinkled baby feet, trying to forget about the woman I know from the gym whose husband murdered her yesterday.
We waved “hello” and made small talk about the gym and our children. We worked out, side by side, on the elliptical machines. We ran into each other at the library with our daughters and introduced them, chatting over the wooden dollhouse in the children’s section.
Nothing is certain yet, but the word is that her husband put a bag over her head and beat her to death, along with their four children, who ranged in age from 3 to 10.
The brain just can’t comprehend. I guess that’s why I want to gaze at those tiny toes and try not to think.