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I cannot sleep.
I watch the Christmas lights flicker on the face of my child. She sleeps so sweet, so soft... so genuinely.
I hold my breath and switch positions. I do not want to wake her. My fingers slide through a strand of her hair, and even this is infused with life...with the electricity of youth.
My mind races through pictures and stories and news flashes.
The christmas lights become the flash of a siren and I am transported.
"Six-year-old Jesse Lewis had hot chocolate with his favorite breakfast sandwich — sausage, egg and cheese — at the neighborhood deli before going to school Friday morning."
"They were supposed to be for the
holidays, but finally on Friday, after hearing much begging, Charlotte
Bacon's mother relented and let her wear the new pink dress and boots to
school."
"The images of Olivia Engel will
live far beyond her short lifetime. There she is, visiting with Santa
Claus, or feasting on a slice of birthday cake. There's the one of her
swinging a pink baseball bat, and another posing on a boat. In some, she
models a pretty white dress; in others, she makes a silly face."
Every Christmastime, we move a bed our to the living room. We do this because it has been tradition since 2008 AD (After Divorce) ...we cuddle beneath the tree and fall asleep dreaming of the Grinch, Elf or Olive.....The OTHER reindeer.
This morning I watch my daughter sleep, and my lips move in a prayer.
I know we all hold our children closer. I am not the only parent watching their child breathe easy beside them.
My mind cannot stop going to the place where 20 mommies lost their babies. Where 20 fathers grieve their child.
It is unnatural to lose a child. In any matter, and in any event.
I know those mommies and daddies hurt. The very breath in their lungs burn. They wake from dreams and walk a nightmare. I know they cannot swallow past the tears that clog their throats.
I want to DO something. I want to rub a back or hug a neck. I want to make sense of it all. I want to erase the fear from the faces of the children that I see, in the paper, walking hand on shoulder.
Frightened, scared. Confused.
Children live in a bubble. It is one built of love and constructed of trust. It is thick and it is strong and it was placed there by parents who love them MORE then they love themselves.
Parents who would give their own breath to fuel the body of their child.
Children love everyone. They trust everything, and believe in the magic that we place before them. Just as they should.
But now...these children who have cowered and been covered by the shaking bodies of their teachers, Who have been clutched to relieved parents chests, thier hair cried upon....will they still believe?
In the power of magic. In the word of adults. Will they still give trust where it is undeserved?
Will they wake in their sleep and cry out for their friends lost forever...
I can almost hear the hit of knees. Thousands upon millions as they fall upon them to pray.
The slap of trembling hands and the utterance of words.
Prayers.
Millions of them. Said in whispers and whimpers. Given in strong voices and weak alike.
I know we pray, and we ask why. And this question will never be answered. How can it?
Why the fuck did this happen? To the most perfect. The innocent. The silly.
How do I explain this to my children...My mind races and naturally calms. It calms and tries to make sense of it all....But It cannot.
It cannot fathom the reasoning behind this. Because there is none.
