There’s nothing I can say that hasn’t already been said about the heartbreak in Newtown. I can’t fix it. I can’t understand it. None of us can.
I keep coming back to the thoughts I have about how I rush my kids out the door to school all of the time. Always in such a hurry. Always running late. “Let’s go, let’s go — come on.” I must say it 25 times every day. And I wonder how many of those mothers or fathers rushed off to Sandy Hook Elementary Friday morning with those precious kids, because that’s what we parents do, without a second thought.
So I spent the weekend trying my best not to rush anywhere. There were lazy pancake mornings with footie pajamas.
And there was a house full of people I love. Long ago, I had planned for this past Saturday to be a holiday baking day with many relatives and friends. It was chaos. But so, so welcomed. The buzz of everyone in my house, Christmas music playing and kids running all over the place. Dozens upon dozens of cookies baked and an afternoon of being simultaneously distracted from and acutely mindful of the horror that was playing out in Newtown.
And with the gray, cold, rainy Sunday that followed, I was perfectly happy to be in my house all day, doing not much of anything with my family. It was a weekend of Yes.
Mommy, can I have another Christmas cookie? Yes.
Can I watch another TV show? Yes.
Can I stay up a little later tonight? Yes.
Yes.
As the photos of those poor, sweet children emerged.
Yes, you can.
And after I watched the Newtown prayer service on TV on the cold, lazy Sunday night, I got some pictures back from a photography session we recently had done. I saw this in my inbox.
The reaction I had was so unexpected — almost primal. Like a wave of gratitude that washed over me from someplace way down inside. And it was nearly more than I could process in that moment, as the names of the victims were scrolling on CNN in the background.
Because it could have been any school. In any town.
Now it’s Monday morning and I’m supposed to send them back to school. I have emails from principals with reassuring words and plans and drills. They are well-written and I am supposed to take comfort in them, knowing that everything is being done to keep my kids safe. I trust our schools. I know this.
But the pit in my stomach still grows as that school drop-off hour approaches. I will send them — I think. But I won’t rush us out the door. We will move as slowly as they want and have them re-tell the same silly joke 15 times, maybe 20.
I don’t have any answers. Like everyone else, I have anger and heartbreak and fear. And I know that going back to business as usual on the blog doesn’t feel right yet. Because complaining about the stress of the holidays or something else so trivial is a very different reality now than it was before Friday morning.
Beautifully written, and I share so, so much your feelings of gratitude.
My son asked if I could get him “a little special something” at the store before school today and normally I’d be like, “are you kidding?” but of course today we went and I was so very glad that is how we get to spend our Monday morning.
very well said.
We had a very similar weekend. A weekend of “yes”, of taking time to enjoy and cherish every moment. I know it cannot always be like this and we will return to the “normal” hustle and bustle of living our lives, but for now, she is getting my attention, my love, my hugs and kisses…whenever she wants them. Bedtime Friday night required an extra 10 or 12 trips up and down the stairs for “just one more hug, mommy”. And I did it without the feeling of frustraion / aggrivation toward a child simply trying to not go to bed that is normally felt. It just felt right to keep going in for that “one last hug”. Today I am grateful, but with a very heavy heart.
Kim that was beautiful, and your family pic is gorgeous.
Beautiful post. There is so much joy in your family picture. It is perfect.
I still have that pit in my stomach, but, I’m surrounded by loud joy. So, I’m trying to let it sink in from their little voices to my body.
I was much more patient this weekend and today getting ready for school than I usually am. What? You don’t have your shoes on after I’ve asked 4 times? Come here. Let me double-knot them for you.
I knew the drop-off would be hard, but I didn’t quite expect the reaction I had. Rolling down the window to yell, “I love you!” one more time, then watching them walk down the hallway until I couldn’t see them anymore was heart-wrenching. I cried all the way home. And then I carried a 300 pound weight on my chest until I had them in the backseat of my car 7 hours later.
So glad you were able to spend the weekend doing joyful things. Beautiful family picture, by the way. Love the poinsettias.
I’ve read and re-read this post several times this week. It is heart-wrenching to think about what happened…to think about the time of year…to think about Christmas Presents that will never be opened, or the empty chairs that will never be filled.
Your words help immensely…for even though we do not have children, we still feel the loss. Some tragic events of the past tend to fade from our memories, but this one will last. This one was far too close to home. This one was so clearly unfair. And it makes you realize how precious friends and family are.
Hug the kids, and P, and Senor…and give them one from us.