Sandy Hook: A Few Thoughts and a Lot of Tears

I was going to post the last of the Competition details but in light of what happened on Friday, I just didn't have the heart.  I will post the final competition day details at some later date but for now, I'm putting that on hold for it seems terribly trite at this moment.  I'm sure most of you understand this need to be respectful of the events and take a moment to reflect.  This, BTW, was one of the harder of blogs for me to write.

Friday was a pretty normal day for most of us I think.  We were all looking forward to the weekend, probably had plans with friends, family, party events, happy hours later that night, shopping, gift wrapping, may be even just sitting and relaxing at home after a long week at work.  For others may be they were looking forward to attending a concert somewhere, meeting up for the first time with a new interest, flying off to some destination to do something fun or may be not.  The options are limitless but what none of us expected to hear the news that 26 people had been gunned down by some psycho who decided to bust into an elementary school and open fire. 

Sure we've actually heard this story far too many times and it's to be noted that recently the frequency seemed to increase, the crimes just a bit more horrifying then the last and we've emotionally dealt with it (somewhat) but this?  This was unexpected.  (Not that those others were any less expected mind you, each and every single instance of such violence is vile, reprehensible and sad equally so)

I had just come back from lunch and one of my buddies pinged me, seeming unusually sad.  He's the type of person who is goofy, super smart and extremely pragmatic.  He looks at the world with eyes that are full of humor in most situations therefore if he was sad...something was very wrong.  He always hides his emotions well but not even he could hide this, not even he could be a 'man' in the face of this sort of epic tragedy.  I asked him what happened feeling slightly panicked and all he said to me was 'those poor babies'.  Clearly he saw my confusion and told me the news.  My stomach clenched instantly.  I left him to his devastation, I didn't blame him as I scanned news headlines.

When written pages weren't enough, I tried desperately to log onto any streaming news network from work to see what in the world had happened, I prayed that it was just...bunk...not wanting to see what I was fairly sure I would see.  Sitting back hard, staring at the monitor my eyes glued to the white letters at the bottom, a number actually, first it read 16 I think, then 18, climbing to 20 and last 26.  Some reports said 28, others were closer to 30.  It was horrific as I sat with my jaw dropped open watching with astounded eyes.  Children?  What?  I couldn't process the thought in the least.  Children they said.  Not just teenagers but little babies...5-10 year old range.  Huh?  No, this was some hoax right?  A real sick one but a hoax nonetheless.  I was so hoping that either it was that or a dream.  I had fallen asleep at my desk and this was the aftereffect of many insomnia driven nights. 

Alas no, not in the least.  This was far too real for words and I didn't know what to think.  The shock was so great, the disbelief probably written all over my face.  I still scoured the headlines hoping that someone would say that April Fools had come early.  No dice.  So I sat and kept watching...and watching...my hands numb, my brain had somehow switched off.  The implications of this had not really set in at all.  Obama spoke to the nation, pausing, collecting himself, wiping away a tear with a thumb from the corner of suspiciously red rimmed eyes which in turn caused me to also tear up.  Did I tear up because he did?  No, of course not but because the overwhelming grief was just not my own and seeing the president barely control it on national television suddenly brought it home, how many people this news was affecting.

Going through the weekend I stayed glued to the television (when I was home) and my heart continued it's constant tightening.  As the names were released, as the faces were revealed, as parents started to come forward, as the stories were now recited of the heroism...I cried a lot.  Tears kept seeping from my eyes as I looked upon each innocent face that were full of so much life. 

So no I'm not saying anything new here.  Nothing that you haven't read in thousands of posts, blogs, news feeds since...I am not special in my pain or the words I write.  The fact that my heart breaks or that my eyes can not hold back the choking tears, this is not a singular thing...people all over are feeling this (or so I hope).  The realization that those faces represented our future lost, happiness ebbed, beauty snuffed, laughter hushed, joy destroyed and now untold potential gone like the softest sweetest warm wind so fleeting yet comforting for as long as it lingered...the only thing remaining are the faces...those innocent faces.  And those adults?  Those amazing brave adults?  The real heroes?  They too...only faces on pictures now?  Memories to be shared?  How big can a tragedy be?

However these are questions we're asking right?  But never mind us, human beings love to do this transference thing.  We love to make things about us, how it affects us, how we cry or mourn, how we can't sleep or are paying...all the 'we'...but this time it isn't, although no time should it be.  If we cry, weep, mourn, then what precisely are those parents, family, loved ones...what are they doing?  How do they handle this crushing monstrous grief?  How do they live in a home, neighborhood, area where every single thing is attached to a possible memory?  How do they even drive by the school which halls were witness to such horror that one can only imagine?  Do they fall apart or become stronger?  Do they find faith or loose it in bitterness completely?  Do they cry out for help or slap the hand of sympathy away?  Everywhere there are words of comfort and yet how do we expect that anything anyone says or does, will replace what they have lost? 

A few friends say that I am very empathetic and I've always prided myself on this one trait but now, I do not want to be.  I want not to think a step further into the head of that mother and father anxiously waiting at that firehouse for their little boy or girl to join them, eyes scanning the children as they poured in may be crying, may be confused and dazed?  I do not want to wonder what that husband, wife, mother, father, child, friend who were waiting for a phone call from their loved one  with reassurances that the kids were okay and they too were safe but heard nothing but silence, must have felt.  God I so want to focus on comfort and supporting but I can't think past how they felt when they went home that night...or if they went home?  Have they slept since?  Eaten?  Could their tears fill a lake?  What visions do they have in their minds eye when they close their eyes or as they lay their dear ones to rest forever?

I don't know, I'm not sure what it is I'm writing or trying to express, I just pray from the bottom of my soul, my hearts heart that somehow they find some sort of solace (although is it possible?).  In Islam, it is said that Allah (swt) places a rock on top of your heart so that we can bear the pain of loss...how many rocks did Allah have to dole out that day?  I so don't know why I had to write this...I think the same as everyone else, why create these beautiful little souls, put them in the arms of their parents, give them a face and identity and attach memories to them when they will be so ruthlessly taken away again and that too in such a short amount of time?  May be, just may be they were such loved souls by God that after he sent them here, he just had to have them back next to his side as angels and therefore called them back?

When I told P, who had been busy at work all day long, he stared at me in horror.  As he sat watching the news with no expression on his face, I went to get ready for my nephews birthday gathering happy that I could at least hug him and his sister to me and reassure myself that they were okay.  When I came back, feeling drained he looked at me, shook his head and this is sort of what he said, "I can not imagine what those parents must be suffering how they're dealing with this but I was just thinking...some of them may have more then one child and therefore at least they can find some sort of comfort right?  I mean they can hug, kiss, love those children they have that are still alive, right?"  I nodded, sitting hard on the sofa knowing what he was going to say, "but what about...I mean what if some of those parents had just one child...one that they struggled to have?  A child that represented all their dreams come true and..."  I didn't want him to continue, I understood where he was going with it.  He knew that I got it without finishing.  His pain and my pain was shared. 

As I watch debates regarding gun control, mental health care, people screaming back and forth arguing over which should be addressed, what needs to be fixed, how we avoid this in the future, all I can think is, those poor babies, those poor parents.

RIP lovely Angels, may you forever laugh, giggle, play, sing, eat all the junk food you wish, color the heavens, be the twinkling stars that shine up above and sit on clouds with your legs swinging all the while at peace.

RIP to the true definition of what a Hero is, those teachers who thought nothing of their own safety before those of their students.  You are an inspiration for your bravery and you have given me hope that humanity still beats in the breast of the every day person...you are my hero. 

And God please...please give those left strength to live on and somehow heal them while showering your mercy upon the rest of us.