Tim

I recieved the news via email and tried to think of other things. I tried to keep my eyes on the computer screen, pretending I was alone instead of the crowded coffee shop in Kuwait surrounded by strangers.

And all the while I sat there typing about things like the color of sand instead of imagining my brother with the casket pressing heavily on his shoulder, his eyes blurring from tears and his head pressed against a wooden pew in reverance for his lost friend. "It is tragic going from being in his wedding to being a pallbearer in his funeral," my brother wrote to me about his friend, Tim.

Tim, killed in a traffic accident, left behind a six month old daughter and a fiance.

No matter how I tried to look at it, there was nothing, but devastation. I felt cruel trying to make sense of it because there are so many things this young man will miss and so on.

Here I am in the desert, thinking all through the day, how easily time can simply fail to exist and how living and dying and war and peace are what makes life fragile and exciting and honest and horrible. For many journalists it is death that provides the big break, or a sense of purpose or depression. For myself, I believe that when tragedy strikes, as if inevitably does, there should be someone there to document it and not let people pass on like dreams one cannot remember.

Luke Murphy has created a Trust for Tim's daughter, Adeline ensuring she will have resources for education in the future. Direct deposits can be made at Washington Mutual in the account "To the Daughter of Tim Cunningham" or you can contact lumurphy@microsoft.com for more information.