Sunday, December 16, 2012

Unimaginable.

There is no question when a life is taken, at any age, it is sad.  That's not even the word.  Something like that, but worse. And harder.

But these children?

I was entrenched into a workday when news hit of this tragedy, this unimaginable horror in Sandy Hook, Connecticut. Blissfully, unaware. I came downstairs a little after lunch to learn about a school shooting. Terrible. Awful. Another. Why?

But then, but then I learned it's a class of kindergarten children, a first grade class? Babies. Babies like my baby.

I almost can't process this. I almost wish I couldn't. I want to be angrier, but I'm just too sad. Heavy hearted, in a way that I would describe as unimaginable, but how can I? My babies are here with me. To be a parent, to lose your baby at anytime, it's unimaginable.  That's not even the word.  Something like that, but worse. And harder.  But like this? Senseless. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.

I don't want to watch the news. But I need to watch. I need to know why. Not that why will make sense. Not that there is a reason or explanation. What was the catalyst? Not that it would even matter, but that's where my head is at.  My youngest is napping as I type this and my oldest is at the gym with her daddy. And during this time of quiet there are lists of things I should be doing, and of all the things in the background I choose this horrifying coverage. I'm almost unable but to take in anything else, because I need to know the how and why.  Which is ridiculous. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.

And do we talk to L about this? Of course not, my gut, heart & head scream to me. But what if she asks me about it. What if someone else in her class has a parent that didn't shield her from this. What then?

Side note, as I looked for the answer: I found Cool Mom Picks collected some online resources on talking to your kids (or not).

I don't know how this doesn't change a person, however far, far on the outside I sit. Every moment right now, seems like a reminder. When my baby comes home she's a reminder. I'm reminded to keep this community, and all those parents beyond this moment who have lost a child, in my heart. And as heavy as my heart truly is, there is this massive conflict I feel. Because I am bursting with overwhelming joy.  I'm reminded to be thankful. She's a blessing, she can come home. And I will continue to hold on to that, everyday - forever more.  She'll be coming home.  The alternative is unimaginable. That's not even the word. Something like that, but worse. And harder.

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