on love and fear and grief

I should be working right now, in the few spare hours I have while one daughter plays at preschool and the other naps quietly in the next room. I should be doing any number of things. But I can’t.

Like so many, I just cannot stop thinking about it. An act so horrific that it is truly unfathomable. Incomprehensible. Senseless.

The merciless deaths of twenty innocent children and six courageous guardians who tried to protect them. Pure lights of joy, forever extinguished by the vile act of a madman.

I think of their families — parents, grandparents, brothers and sisters, cousins. Their friends and neighbors, their community. I think of the teachers and the nurturing stories of love and courage and I just want to hug every one of them. I think of the first responders and wonder how they managed to do their jobs that day.

I can’t think of them without weeping.

I can only hope they felt no fear, no pain, that they knew love.

I grieve for the families from a place so deep it aches. I’m holding them in love and light and wishing for comfort and peace in the impossibly difficult days ahead. For them, this horrific nightmare will never end.

I grieve for the loss of innocence of these amazing little people, for the survivors, for every child who now wonders or worries whether they are safe.

I grieve for the loss of humanity that could result in such horror. I grieve for a world in which such abominable things simply don’t happen.

Many people are talking about fear. Afraid they can’t keep their children safe. Scared to send their kids to school. Fear of that which we cannot control. A random act of violence, of terror.

Others are talking about love. The goodness in the world. The helpers. That which keeps us going, that guides us through. The light in the darkness.

I think about fear and love and loss and my gut twists and I feel sick and the tears fall. There is risk in loving, in living, I know. We are all vulnerable. Safety is an illusion. Yet this sort of fear and anxiety wasn’t even in our lexicon of awareness. Though unimaginable just days ago and still wildly incomprehensible, we now know such a thing could happen anywhere, anytime. Yet for me, to succumb to the fear would be madness.

Instead I dwell in the loss because grief I can understand. While I cannot possibly know the deep anguish of those personally affected by this senseless act, I know their lives have been irrevocably changed, shattered by immeasurable grief. There is little solace.

Yes, we are all vulnerable. But we are also all connected. We need to protect each other, especially the most vulnerable among us. We need to love one another, if only to affirm the basic humanity we share. Truly, we are all affected.

Sending prayers through the universe for healing, for peace, for love. For change.

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~ by luna on December 17, 2012.

10 Responses to “on love and fear and grief”

  1. You never cease to amaze me. Beautifully stated. I love you.

  2. thank you for putting into words thoughts I’ve had rolling round in my mind .. beautifully stated :)

  3. So poignant. Thank you!

  4. So beautifully put. I feel the same way … no positive change in the world has come from fear … only from love. Thank you. And {{luna}}.

  5. Well said, friend, well said. Safety and security will always remain an illusion until we confront our worst fears.

  6. I too hope the victims felt no fear, no pain, only love. In the aftermath of such a tragedy we should not live in fear. We should spread some more love.

  7. It makes me sick, and more scared. Can I live in my own little bubble? no but I do think about it. We have terrorist in our own country, I hate it.
    YOu can’t go anywhere without wondering if someone might shoot you. Its the right to bear arms and we have for along time, so whats changed? No pride in ourselves, feeling we are owed something. It just is awful.

  8. Thank you for such a beautiful post, Luna. I ache with you too as I consider what I can do to help others to repair and heal.

  9. “that they knew love.”

    My wish, as well.

    “Love is all there is.” Somehow, even the most heinous in this story is still included within love.

    (Not saying I understand how.)

  10. So beautifully written.

    I have tried and failed to put words to how this has shaken me to the core. I envision my own six-year-old, innocently attending school, and what something like this could have done to her delicate inquisitve mind.

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