They found Sandra Cantu last night.
They found an innocent child, stuffed in a suitcase in an irrigation pond, three miles from home.
They found an eight year old girl. Robbed of a life of untold potential, incalculable achievement.
They found a daughter, whose only real job in life was to be loved by parents.
They found someone's friend, who touched a life.
They found a neighbor, who brought together other neighbors, and friends, and strangers.
They found a victim of someone whose very existence on this planet is a reminder that "hate" is a very real, very dangerous, and very sad thing.
They found Sandra Cantu. Too late to save her.
And if you live to be a thousand years old, will you ever find a reason for any of it?
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