Our homegrown terrorist chose his ex-wife’s church as a target. This was not random. He doesn’t just hate some people, he hates everyone. When I read descriptions of him as a “loner,” my head says that he was a lonely, unhappy man who let bitterness and resentment take over his mind like a cancer. Maybe if he had a friend. Maybe if he felt loved. Maybe if we could see each other as human beings first and labels second. Maybe something. I try to pretend the killer is someone I love and care about. I search myself for pity or compassion and find none. The members of the church he attacked will forgive him long before I do. That makes me hateful, too. I don’t want this hate inside of me. The hate inside of me is my responsibility and not his. That doesn’t make me any less angry with him.