Earlier today, I wrote about yesterday's killing of a man who most people in this country probably figure deserved to die regardless of whether they think we should have killed him or that his death will make a difference. I didn't name him then, and won't now because it doesn't matter just who he is. Death, ultimately, is death.
Killing is killing.
I meant to close with a passage lifted from John Donne's Meditation XVII (1624) but, frankly, I got distracted and forgot. I thought about adding the passage as an update, but that didn't feel right.
So here, by themselves, because every death is personal and individual and different than every other, because the good and the bad alike die, because killing is killing despite the fact that killings and men and the facts and circumstances are never equivalent, and because really, the words are true.