Sadly, now we all know where this small Connecticut town is.
What we don't know, but can only imagine, is the terror felt by parents waiting for news of their children. We can only imagine the strength overcoming fear that enabled heroic teachers to do what they could to protect their precious little ones and try to shield them from "the bad guys."
What we probably can't imagine, unfortunately, is a world where guns are available only to bonafide police and public safety personnel. The deep pockets and influence of the gun lobby makes that hard to imagine, despite all the talk we'll soon hear from politicians.
That, too, is sad.
...
My daughter Jennifer sent me her thoughts as she was getting ready to take our grandson Jack to school this Monday morning, up in Maine...
It is snowing right now, a beautiful silent scene, evoking the simple
childhood joys of the first snow of the season. All is calm, all is
quiet, all is untouched. There are no tracks worn in, no tire marks
making the clean canvas a sight for sore eyes. It is simple.
I want to keep it that way, bottle it up and let no one walk upon it. Let it just be, so pure, as nature intended.
But for better or worse, that is not how it is. It is impossible to live in a bottle.
And
so, it is in the middle of this beauty, that my stomach churns with
anxiety and sadness and horror, as I prepare to send my 7 year old off
to school this morning. His sweet, pure, freshly falling snow of a soul.
His world is different than mine. He doesn't know of the evil, of the
impossible to make sense of. He knows nothing of Sandy Hook.
I cry
endless tears for the families that lost their loved ones. There are no
words. And I cry for my children too. For knowing that the simple, clean
snow they play upon can not stay that way forever. Mud and dirt and
sand will creep in and there is no stopping it. I mourn for the families
in Newtown, and I mourn for the loss of my innocent children's
understanding of this world.
For now, I will watch the snow fall.
Soon, I will drop my older son off at school and pray- something I just
do not do. I will pray for his safety, for his innocence, and for his
heart.
And when he comes home, as I know he will, we will run and
laugh and play in the snow-- plowed through and grit covered as it may
be.
And we will laugh and we will love, and I will shed a silent
tear.
Childhood is fleeting. The world shows its ugly face too soon.
I
will try, hard as I might, to shelter my children from all that is
evil, from the very knowledge of its existence even. But I can't.
And so we go on.