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.