Light and darkness

I moved to Portland in February, 2008. I was alone, newly retired, and I didn’t know a soul within 700 miles. One of the first people I met was Mya Chamberlin, an administrator at Friendly House, where I signed up for a writing group and a tai chi class. Mya was high-energy, joyful, energetic: and after only one meeting, she remembered my name. Her warmth invited me to begin again. 

Sometimes Mya brought her vibrant curly-haired daughter Logan, then about ten years old, to work with her. Logan was bursting with creativity, a poet and songwriter who looked very much like her mother: round eyes, full cheeks, dark ringlets. Five years later I had moved on to other activities when I heard that Logan had become pregnant at fifteen and delivered a baby prematurely, so Mya and her husband were immersed in new life, supporting a teenager with a special-needs baby. I could relate to Mya’s unconditional love for Logan and the baby, and I heard that Logan had finished high school and was becoming a social justice activist. The last time I saw Mya (she still remembered my name), I told her I was looking forward to meeting Logan at a protest, and she assured me, “I’m sure you will. She’s all about justice, just like you.” 

Friday night, Logan was shot to death in the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, who was also shot multiple times and is in critical condition. Logan was nineteen. I suppose it was a burglary; an investigation is under way and details have not been released. A child in the house with them was her boyfriend's baby, who was physically unharmed. Logan’s baby, now the age of Evan, was with Mya and her husband that night, so he wasn’t harmed physically, but he will grow up without his mother, and he will grieve and see his grandparents grieving. 

There was another mass killing in Texas on Saturday. 

Gun violence in this country is a continual nightmare. You have probably heard all you ever want to hear of gun statistics from this country, but here’s a link if you want to know more.