I was supposed to write an english paper about Kafka...and this came out

All I can think about right now is the sinking of the Titanic. It’s like, in light of that, nothing else matters. Every time I’m reminded of what happened, I think…why does the world go on? How can the world go on, when so many people died, when such a tragedy actually happened? This actually happened 1517 lives were lost-drowned, died. One thousand, five hundred and seventeen people, human beings with souls and feelings and the capacity to experience pain and suffering, did just that. I’ve been in a car accident. It was probably the worst fear I’ve ever felt. Looking over at ben, wondering if it would stop. Wondering what would happen to us. Wondering if more would happen. Wondering if we would make it. What do you do with that kind of tragedy? How does someone heal from such pain. Almost a year ago it happened. Emotionally, I tend to think I’m over it. But sometimes it hits me. The tragedy was overwhelming. We didn’t die. I didn’t die. Ben didn’t die. But for about 3 seconds, which seemed infinitely longer, between the first hit and the second I though “why are we still moving? Aren’t we going to stop? Is there more pain coming? Is it possible that one of us could die right now?”

That’s the worst thought to have to think.

So imagine, those 1517 people asking the same questions, “is it going to hurt more? Am I going to make it? Is it possible that my husband will make it too? What does the end look like? How is it possible for such a tragedy to be happening?”

You look around you and all you see is pain and screaming and scared faces. I kept thinking in the car accident, “I’m so scared.”

Can you imagine the fear overwhelming you in a sinking ship? Knowing you probably won’t survive the night, staring your own death in the face. Everytime I think about the Titanic I’m overwhelmed with sadness…so many people. Such tragedy…how could such tragedy actually happen? I can’t wrap my mind around it. I cannot comprehend what those people saw that night. Humanity at it’s worst, I would say. Desperation.

One thousand, five hundred and seventeen desperate lives, lost, in a matter of two and a half hours.

I’m thankful for William Denton Cox. I utterly respect him. A third class passenger, he discovered a way out, from the depths of the ship to the deck, to get to the lifeboats. See, third class passengers were stuck inside the ship. There were gates separating the levels, keeping them from mingling with the first class passengers. These gates were locked and the third class was stranded, stuck waiting for their own death. So Cox found a way to get to the deck. He led a group of people to the top, and didn’t get himself off, but went back for more people. He led a second group to safety, and then returned a third time. The third time he didn’t make it. He lost his life. William Denton Cox laid down his life for strangers. He went back, he kept going back, likely knowing it was his own death.  He saved so many people.

A ridiculously disproportionate number of third class passengers died that morning. They didn’t stand a chance. Even in the face of tragedy, people couldn’t forget these differences. William Denton Cox, I commend you. You did a beautiful thing, and most people don’t even know who you are. But I do. Thank you.