I don't know how many of you know this but earlier in the month, a 26-year old man, Michael George Boutros was killed in Whistler.
I was a little freaked out when I heard about this, especially when papers said that it was the first in 30 years. I think it was the fact that this happened while I was here. I didn't necessarily get chills up my spine but I did feel like looking over my shoulder every time I walked to the bus stop late at night.
On Monday I walked past the place where he was killed, where he died and I was really worried about getting creeped out. Would I feel so weird I'd never be able to walk by that spot again? How would this affect my walk to the library or the grocery store.
Strangely enough, I didn't feel anything. The walkway was crowded with tourists and the outside patios were full. Everyone was going about there business and no one stopped to look or pause. My own thoughts and the actions of these other people really bothered me. Was I really more concerned about how my ability to buy apples and milk would be affected than the fact that someone had been killed in the place that I lived?
He'll never get married or have kids. He'll never get pink flamingoes on his lawn when he turns 40 or have the biggest retirement party ever. He'll never get seniors rates or go on cruises for people over 80. He'll never do anything again and that really bothers me.
Now, on the news I hear about people dying every day. But this is different. It's close and every weekend I have to walk by the place that it happened.
I suppose in a way it wasn't suprising how people were going on about their day but at the same it almost felt like a lack of respect. Boutros' family isn't going to be moving on anytime soon and the reaction almost seems to make life less precious than it is.
Anyway, that's my two cents.