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My mind is incapable of fathoming this type of pure evil. My heart is unable to undip itself from this cup of intense pain. I grieve for these babies as though they are my own nieces and nephews, and for the others as though they are my cousins. I cannot escape the lump in my throat or the discomfort I feel in my chest every few minutes as I continually remember what happened yesterday…
Yesterday – when happy and carefree six and seven-year-olds became terrified murder victims. Yesterday – when the innocence was stolen from an entire community of children. Yesterday – when teachers became brave heroes and victims simultaneously.
I cried myself to sleep last night. When I rose at 5:30am to see my husband off to his Saturday of overtime – I cried some more. I know that my tears will eventually run out…but not so far. Much to the dismay of my swollen eyes, the tears just keep flowing. The TV hasn’t been on today, outside of Saturday morning cartoons, but even that is heartbreaking…because I know the cartoons have been silenced on the televisions of twenty angels who were here yesterday – and then gone yesterday. The news hasn’t been on because I made a concious decision to attempt distance from the tragedy. Selfish – maybe, and sadly not an option for that Conneticut community, but a must for the sake of self-preservation. Still though, there are reminders for me…in every word and action of my own five-year-old today. He is just a year younger than many of the victims.
Normally, his early morning footsteps loudly running through our home make me wish for a little more sleep…not this morning. As he burst through my door with his sparkling smile and greeted me with his raspy little voice and happy eyes – I literally thanked God outloud. His sharp elbows that always seem to find their way to my boobs as he climbs into bed next to me…Thank You, God. His stinky morning breath, that he is clearly oblivious to, as he whispers to me memories of last night’s dreams…Thank You, Lord. His incessant fidgeting and uncontrollabe movement that always inevitably wakes his little brother who is asleep on the other side of me…Thank You, Jesus. His bossy and impatient demands of me to make his favorite pancakes…Thank You, Father.
I take it. I take it all…so gratefully. I will double check little booties that have just gone #2. I will settle arguments over who gets to be Batman and who has to be Robin. I will wipe snotty noses. I will clean up melted popsicles from stained countertops. I will wash peed sheets. I will endure big fits thrown in public places. I will go back to the store because I forgot the Danimals. I will laugh at little jokes that aren’t that funny. I will get through bedtime prayers with fussy children who don’t believe it’s bedtime. I will deal with finicky eaters who insult my cooking. I will.
I will also be the recipient of tender kisses and precious hugs. I will see the mouthfuls of baby teeth that expose themselves during the belly-est of belly laughs. I will also put cash under pillows that hold little sleeping heads when those teeth fall out. I will be a tooth fairy, an Easter bunny, and Santa Claus. I will dress up with them on Halloween. I will let them eat more dessert than turkey on Thanksgiving. I will sing their favorite Goodmorning and Goodnight songs to them, even though they keep changing the words. I will not take one single moment with them for granted.
And when D’Lo, who couldn’t start kindergarten this year because he was born past the deadline, begins school this coming Fall…I will be pray. I will continually ask my God to cover him with the mightiest of protection. I will make requests for legions of angels to be permanently perched above him and below him and all the way around him. I will ask my Father to keep him safe from all harm – physical, emotional, mental, and especially spiritual…just as I have always done for all my children, just as I already do for him now.
To carry a constant concern for his kidneys is hard enough. Just as with my older kids – I can’t even stand the thought of his feelings being hurt at school…I shouldn’t have to worry about his classroom becoming a warzone. Lord Jesus. Help us.
