I am a coward

Today is the 15. of December, 2012. The day after the worst mass school shooting in America, probably in the world. And I am yet to read a single article about it, or turn on the TV. You see, I am a coward. I’ve been fighting tears all day yesterday, and when my daughter turned on nbcnews.com for a minute I kept yelling at her to turn it off, close it down, and started bawling in ernest. It hits me too hard, even though I’ve never been involved in an event such as that. I have two marvelous children. My daughter, almost thirteen is precocious, precious, a deep thinker, an intellectual. My son, is seven years old. He is the family clown, the artist, the feeler, the emoter.

How do you move on from something like that? Parents, grandparents and others are looking at wrapped toys under the tree, unwrapped ones hidden away, realizing they will never again hear that little voice gleefully and triumphantly exclaim over that perfect present. Teachers are in agony over the ones they couldn’t save. Someone out there is in agony over not heeding that strange little voice in her head that told her that morning to just keep the kid at home and bake cookies. Play hokey from school, just this once.

How do you move on from that?

How do you move on after taking picture after picture of little body after little body lying forever motionlessly on the floor? My heart goes out to all those who came into the building during that silent aftermath do their job. Elementary schools are supposed to be filled with little giggly, wiggly bodies itching to go out for recess and play. Not filled with the stillness of carnage.

How do you move on from that?

How do you move on after telling the fifth set of parents that their child was one of those still forms lying on the gurney, shrouded in a black polymer bag?

I haven’t read a word, or listened to anything beyond snippets on Facebook. As you can see, it’s all playing out in my mind even so.

A coward is what I am.

My heart goes out to more people than I can mention. Those little ones and the adults who lost their lives. To the ones that remain behind to mourn. To the ‘helpers’ as Fred Rogers called them, who even though they probably want to crawl into a dark bedroom and cry their hearts out, help and take care of all which needs to be taken care of.

And lastly, when will someone finally say it’s time to talk gun control and take on the NRA?

One comment

  1. Coward in a sense, perhaps, but you had the courage to write about it, to help in your helplessness. I could not find even meager words to offer, thank you for doing so. My blog has been non-existent since this day.

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