The tragic shootings -- 20 children and 6 adults -- in Newtown Connecticut, are no longer front page news, at least not in my neck of the woods. Still plenty of editorials and letters to the editor about gun laws and gun rights, but those who died have been laid to rest, and those who love them must try to go on.
And I can't stop thinking about them.
A friend whom I respect and admire admonished us on facebook not to make this tragedy about ourselves. She said our children were safe, and no one was going to try to take away our guns; that yes, this incident was sad, but it was not about us.
I don't agree with her. I can't think of another way of processing this horror without making it about me -- without putting myself in the place of the mother (or grandmother) of one of those children. I have to put myself in the place of one of those frightened children who, seconds before his own death, saw his friends and playmates being brutally executed. To make it about me is to at least try to feel it.
I don't understand why I want -- or need -- to feel it. I just know that I do.
I don't know anyone from Newtown, Connecticut, and probably never will.
But I have a daughter who just celebrated her 35th birthday -- whose birth I can remember as if it were last week. I remember holding her in my arms, and feeling sure that I held the entire world. And I did. My world. That day, I knew that to lose a child would be to lose everything. I don't know that I'd be able to move forward, as I've been praying for those parents in Newtown to be able to do.
A couple of days ago we celebrated Christmas. We really celebrated, with food and presents and time together. One day just before Christmas, I sat in my living room, looking at the lighted tree, and I felt happy and peaceful. The Spirit of the Season, I would say. But then I felt like it was wrong to feel that way. I tried to imagine what the families in Newtown were feeling, but I know I never even got close.
If there's anything I can do, besides pray, I hope it comes to me. I don't mean to denegate the power of prayer, because I know that there are times when prayer is the only thing that can help. I know that this is one of those times. But right now, my prayers feel so small, and my contentment seems so selfish.
I have no answers or solutions. I'm just feeling things that are hard to feel. And I'm so sorry.
