i spent most of yesterday in board rooms and court rooms, preparing for trial and helping my clients try to resolve issues. by the time i got back to my office around 4 p.m. and started responding to the emails that had piled up all day, by the time i really learned about the tragedy in connecticut, i was already emotionally drained and exhausted. the first thing i did was call john. i just wanted to hear his voice and say "hi" to jack.
to my surprise, john was shaken. it's not that i haven't watched him sympathize or empathize when there were tragedies in the past. we've had countless conversations when talking through senseless acts of violence in the past, but i don't remember hearing the vulnerability i heard in john's voice yesterday. i asked him how the day was going, and he said, "i'm just holding jack close and doing whatever he wants today," he said simply. it made me cry and made my heart ache for all the parents in connecticut who won't get to hold their babies ever again.
unfortunately i had a few more hours of work ahead of me, and by the time i got home, i just felt this extreme sense of heart-brokenness and sadness. i turned on the news for awhile, but john turned it off because i couldn't see anything anyway through my tears. we cancelled our evening plans because i just didn't feel like leaving my son, and we sat on the couch and snuggled with jack.
one thing that i keep hearing in my mind is the summary from a newscaster, who reported that after the shooting, parents had gathered at some local spot - maybe a community hall or fire station - to retrieve their children. at some point, the children were all reunited with their parents, and then the announcement was made that if you did not have your child, there were no more children left to retrieve. i didn't sleep well last night because that scene kept playing in my mind. i cannot imagine that. i cannot fathom driving to a location to pick up my child and then, at some point, realizing that i would never see him again, that i would come home without him. it's the worst thing i can imagine. truly.
it was with a heavy heart that we embarked on our advent adventure last night. of course, jack was exuberant because thankfully, as a gleeful two-year-old in the midst of christmas season, he is oblivious to pain and sorrow and loss and grief and heartache. and for that i am glad. he is far too young to know any of those emotions... and so were those precious babies in connecticut.
i am sharing the photos from last night, but regardless of what the envelope said, the envelope in my heart said, "don't ever take this for granted. honor the memories of those sweet babies by holding him close."
i am thinking of all the families, teachers, first responders and community members today. my heart aches for your loss, and i am so sorry for the unspeakable tragedy you are experiencing.
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