Worth remembering

"Look how they massacred my boy!"

In "The Godfather," that's how mob boss, Don Corleone, described the scene at the bullet-riddled body of his adult child, Sonny. He swallowed his welling tears and sobs as he pulled back a blanket to reveal the daunting task at hand to his friend, the undertaker. The iconic film introduced America to organized crime families and their viciously brutal lifestyle, fed by retribution and diabolical violence.

"Look how they massacred my boy!

That could have been what God said the day his son died impaled on a tree. Catholics commemorate the death of Jesus at every Mass, honoring his request to "Do this in memory of me."

"Look how they massacred my boy!"

Or my girl. Or my mother. Or my father. Or my brother. Or my sister. Or my lover.

Do we stop to remember those who are massacred when gunmen madly invade schools and churches, night clubs and newsrooms? Do we think of those who mourn them?

No death makes sense in human terms. The loss can cause us to question the meaning of living. But there is something about murder, especially mass murder or insanely merciless killing that leaves us numb. Shaken. Wanting to forget the unforgettable.

Kids who live in communities where gun violence is a way of life often wear t-shirts printed with the faces of those they've lost. It's how they remember.

All lives are worth remembering. Because they come from the source of life and are not ours to take. They are all valuable and deserve protecting. Even those who damage others are precious to their maker.

"Look how they massacred ... "