I'd intended for my commentary today to be about all the fun we had this weekend, but considering I just got back from the bathroom with red eyes and a sniffly nose, I think you can guess that it's the furthest thing from my mind right now.
I happened to think to check my home email account a few minutes ago, and got kicked in the pants by what I found. Mom emailed me at about one this morning to let me know about what happened this weekend. My aunt Mildred, the one who is battling bipolar disorder, shot her son (my cousin Clint) in the hand this weekend during an argument.
She swears it's an accident.
All I know is that I feel like someone kicked me in the stomach.
I just don't know what to make of this. I just don't. We've dealt with the problems of dealing with her problems for as long as I can remember, and I guess in my mind I've always hoped that it would never come to this—to violence. But evidently it has.