Monday, December 17, 2012

in the darkness

Our corporate office had just concluded the annual holiday celebration, and provided all employees the remainder of the day off. There’s only one thing Pete and I miss from our pre-baby days, and that’s going to a real, brick and mortar, movie theater. During our courtship, that’s something we did nearly every Sunday morning. So, while fellow colleagues were rushing off to the nearest bar, Pete and I headed over to Tinseltown to catch the new, Hobbit.

While the previews were playing, I scavenged for my phone in the dark, in attempt to silence it. Yet someone I subscribe to on Facebook posted something which caught my eye – something to the effect of, “those poor babies in CT didn’t deserve what happened to them…” There forward, my phone started blowing up with tweets and texts and emails, people commenting on some tragic incident in Newtown, CT. The words, “children” and “shooting” and “gunman” stood out and I immediately went to the internet to search out the details.

After only a few minutes of digesting what I had just read, I resorted to sobbing. Right there in the theater. Off and on throughout the movie. I even strived to get lost in the story line, to push out the reality, but every so often the story line would lull, and I would think on those littles who lost their lives and the parents left behind in anguish.

It felt similar to the moment 9-11 happened. And that of the New York area nanny who murdered the two small children she was responsible for. Heavy. Pain as real as the sun on our cheeks. And all I wanted to do was go home to my children…look into their eyes…listen to their voices…hold them a little longer than usual.

If you’ve ever had the privilege of loving a child, this unconscionable event breaks your heart as it does mine. And statistically -- every day -- a child’s voice is silenced too soon.

No mother or father should have to bury their child. I mean, how does a parent survive this kind of loss?

I expected the tears would have subsided by now, but they still produce a steady trickle. And for all the moments I’ve smiled since Friday, won’t you believe I’ve felt guilt in the pit of my stomach…aware that 20 mommies writhe in agony in CT, along with many others around the world experiencing similar losses.

If you’re battling an internal struggle much like I am, perhaps you’re asking how we as a people rise above this. I’ve thought about this all weekend, the ebb and flow of my emotions – the revolving sadness and anger and fear and overall hopelessness for humanity.

We live in a world riddled with unspeakable violence. For which there is no fix. On the heels of that, we are all facing some type of heaviness. Each of us represent circumstances that are too much for us to bear alone.  

...we need each other.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."Martin Luther King, Jr.

Song: If I Rise   Artist: Dido & A.R. Rahman


1 comment:

  1. My heart is still heavy. The atmosphere has changed. Things will never be the same. Thank you for sharing.


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