The radio was on for the entire trip from Rochester to Binghamton… Scanning from one station to the next for the latest news. Five dead. Hostages. Lawmakers respond. A rifle was used. No, a pistol. More dead.

The talk radio between news blasts pursued every related topic. Gun control, the economy, immigration. Caller after caller had opinions usually moderated by a radio personality with additional opinions.

Understandably, few even tried to consider why such events happen. As though talk of auxiliary issues was easier (or perhaps just more therapeutic) than using the event to spur meaningful dialog: Easier to talk of guns and politics than death and how society (even global society) spurs people towards nonsensical violence.

These conversations continued in various forms throughout the week. Reporters reported, focusing on the details. Pistol or rifle. Caliber? How many shots exactly? The police talked factually with great caution, even unwilling to confirm that the killer was dead until a full day later. The gravity of the situation manifested, for them, as a certainty that every move would be scrutinized for months and years to come.

Community members who weren’t directly affected continued the conversation too. In one bar only yards from the scene a young man burst out, “Well, they say nothing ever happens in Binghamton” before sipping his beer. The conversation also took place in more earnest and hushed tones… “My friend’s teacher was there; I think she was killed.”

Those more directly affected became increasingly more public in the few days that followed. Families of the victims arrived ceremoniously at the Civic Association, quietly holding vigil and then somberly talking of their loved one into a twist of microphones.

Religious laws requiring prompt burial meant the first funerals were for Layla Khalil and Parveen Nln Ali.  There, in nearby Johnson City, friends and families attended alongside others that were merely acquaintances and still others that (like me) had no real connection at all. “I decided not to go to class that day,” one young woman explained afterward. “[Parveen] went without me.”

A pause.

“You have a new life,” someone nearby says, breaking the silence and laughing hesitantly, “A second chance.”