It's roughly an hour before midnight here on the east coast.
In the Denver area, the sun will rise at 6:15 a.m., Mountain time. That's a little more than nine hours from now.
...
At this exact moment 15 years ago, the lives of 15 people were rapidly drawing to a close.
Two of those people knew their ends were near.
Thirteen did not.
...
Every moment brings us closer to the resolution of the ultimate mystery: What is it like to die? What, if anything, lies beyond the threshold?
Only the knowledge that we are impermanent gives our lives any semblance of true meaning.
It compels us to try to make something of ourselves, in the precious time that we have available.
It prompts us to ponder the Big Questions - is there something beyond the material realm? is there a God? is there life after death?
...
Richard Nixon was a complicated man. He made many enemies in his life. But he left us with a quote that I think applies to everyone:
"Others may hate you, but those who hate you don't win unless you hate them - and then, you destroy yourself."
...
"I hate the fucking world," Eric Harris wrote.
It is a cruel irony that Eric and Dylan concluded that the only way they could make something of themselves was to destroy themselves, and to attempt to destroy hundreds of others.
...
At this moment 15 years ago, none of Eric and Dylan's victims knew that his or her life was soon to be extinguished in a blaze of hatred.
Part of me is glad.
Part of me is relieved that they didn't have to toss and turn in their beds, knowing that April 20th was a day on which they were going to pass into oblivion.
...
But that is what people say after the fact - "I am glad they didn't have to suffer more than they did."
Nothing can alter the fact that the senseless slaughter of even one person is a tragedy beyond comprehension.
...
I wonder how many of them slept soundly on this night 15 years ago. I would like to think that all of them did.
They deserved to sleep soundly, in what Thomas Harris has called "the silence of the lambs."
And the victims were lambs, at the moment of their deaths. They were lambs torn apart by the capriciousness of wolves.
...
On Tuesday, April 20, 1999, Eric and Dylan murdered 13 innocent people in cold blood.
Given that fact, it is hard to conclude that either boy deserves even a token shred of sympathy or respect. But some of us are inclined to give both of them more than they deserve.
Part of me mourns for them. Part of me wishes that they could have been saved. Part of me wishes that they
can be saved, even now.
I would like to believe that no one is ever entirely lost, even in death. I have faith in the idea that life is worth living.
Eric and Dylan did not believe that their lives were worth living. Their lack of such faith led to acts that destroyed an awful lot of happiness, real and potential.
...
The last sunrise of Eric and Dylan's lives marked the beginning of what has been described as "a day of obscene horror."
Indeed, Eric's suicide has been described as his one decent act on that day:
[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]...
I have been told that I think about things too much. I probably do.
But thinking is a way of coping. It's a way of filling up the emptiness that sometimes gnaws at my soul.
I think Eric and Dylan felt the same emptiness. It gnawed at them until there was nothing left to chew.
...
I don't pretend that my thoughts and feelings about 4/20 add up to a hill of beans.
I don't know what it was like for the victims, or their families, or their friends, or their teachers, or their coworkers, or anyone else who was directly connected to the tragedy.
I know nothing, I can never know anything. I acknowledge that fact. I accept it.
But, in my own way, I sense the gravity of this day, and what it represents.
In my own way, I want to try to mark it, and ponder its true meaning.
...
There are many ways to mark what happened at Columbine High School on Tuesday, April 20, 1999.
One of the simplest is to listen to this song:
[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]Some may find it meaningful. Some may not. But I can't think of anything better to say.
...
This is not a day for words.
Words can express only an infinitesimally small percentage of there is to say and know and feel about the tragicomic pageant of human existence.
...
Still, I feel compelled to say this:
I sincerely hope, and pray, that this anniversary passes without incident.