So. Raoul Moat is dead. He shot himself at around 1.15am. I've been talking about this a little on my other blog, but I think this post belongs here.
I was watching the blanket coverage last night on the BBC news channel, hating myself for doing so. Knowing that it was unlikely he would give himself up. Asking myself why I was watching the slow suicide of a desperate man. Unable to look away. Hoping against hope that he put his gun down and gave himself up. But knowing how unlikely it was.
And this morning, hearing that it was over and he was dead, I felt hollow.
His poor mum. His poor kids. His poor ex girlfriend. She's been betrayed in the worst possible way by her ex partner - who she presumably loved at one point. Her boyfriend has been murdered, and she's been left a single mother. And one day she will have to explain to her child what he did.
But you know what else haunts me?
The fact that witnesses to last night's stand off heard him say 'I haven't got a dad'. And 'no one cares about me'.
No one - no matter what they've done - should have to die thinking no one cares about them.
I think maybe my own grief is colouring my reaction. Maybe. But still.
I wish it hadn't come to this.
I don't really see how this could have played out any differently. But I still wish it had.