Addressing a Tough One

It’s two days after Sandy Hook anniversary.  I’m trying to plan these blog pieces ahead and have them scheduled because my schedule doesn’t always allow for me to be at a place where I can focus on social media for a far reaching dream that I can’t give up on.  Saturday I noticed it was the anniversary of that terrible day.

I had forgotten how close to Christmas it happened.  I hadn’t forgotten how I sobbed for people I have never met and will likely never meet.  I didn’t forget that family that crawled into their child’s bed and wept for the loss.  Or the children who led their classmates to a kind retired gentleman who said he just knew they were in trouble and something terrible had happened. Or the pictures of the parents as they left the awful meeting where they got the news.  I didn’t know then that they had all been taken to a room and were waiting, making tense jokes about how their kids probably pulled the fire alarm that triggered all the chaos, not realizing.  Just not realizing.  I’m tearing up as I write.

You don’t need kids to understand the loss but once you do have kids the understanding of the loss intensifies exponentially.  It grabs the air from your lungs and squeezes your heart until it pops.  You can’t imagine, not even a very little bit. 

No one should have to suffer that kind of tragedy because someone who should never have been in possession of a cap gun let alone a semi-automatic weapon had a library of weapons at their disposal.  I get so angry about the whole thing and this is not a post about gun control or not.  That’s for another time.  This is a post about injustice.  All of those victims and remaining loved ones were the victims of rampant injustice and remain so and the toll of this type of one sidedness continues to rise.

The biggest thing I’m thinking about as I get ready to finally decorate my Christmas tree (I’m really behind this year) with my kids is – how close it was to Christmas.  Without knowing them at all, I know from experience how excited they all were for it and what they might get.  Or maybe they were already in their seasonal celebration.  I know the decorations were up and the general frenzied happiness of the season was making the teacher’s jobs joyfully frustrating. 

I know the world lost a sea of potential that day seven years ago and every time since.  And I’m struggling to see what value we got in exchange for these sacrifices.

Published by miasotowrites

Wannabe Writer Tired Mother Aspiring Slacker

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