Approximately two hours ago, four people died tragically in a helicopter accident at the bottom of our alley. We were sitting at our window when we noticed the low flying aircraft above the houses across the street. The men inside appeared to be looking for something as the helicopter swayed from side to side. Moments later we heard the crash and saw the smoke.
We rushed outside to find the alley engulfed in thick black smoke. We thought the house on the corner was on fire. As the smoke cleared we stood helpless while a body lay in flames in the street. We could not go any closer to try and help because of the ignited fuel on the ground and the popping sounds still coming from the wreckage.
Now, as I watch the spectators congregating outside our windows, I am repulsed by the gawking. People taking pictures with their cell-phones and camera's. Teenagers laughing and pushing each other around. The looks on people's faces make it seem as if they are at a carnival; as though they aren't at the site of a tragedy. As though four lives didn't just end in all this entertainment. As though there aren't four bodies of people who were loved laying underneath those tarps.
I find myself offering up a prayer not just for the victims and their families but also for the people walking down my street. I pray that they may be touched by the deep sorrow of what has happened here. I am not sure how I feel about being part of a society whose curiosity is capable of outweighing their compassion.