A couple years ago I was watching a little boy over night while his parents went on a trip. After waking up completely fine, he unexpectedly and suddenly died. He was 2 1/2 years old. And although it's been years since - Andrew would be in Kindergarten now - the grief, the remembrance. It all is still fresh. To this day I hear his mother's cries. Pure sorrow to the depths of the soul. That’ll never leave me.
When I first heard of the school shooting last Friday, it hit me hard just like everyone. So little. So innocent. So excited about their day just beginning at school! Along with everyone, I’ve been grief stricken ever since. Everyone has been hurting since the news. Even family members all the way in Australia have called to see that everyone was okay here in America. They saw it on the news. They were saddened and worried too.
Life. Death. It comes to us all. But when it does, none of us knows. So we live our lives to the fullest and hold on tight to those we love, as we never know when it will be time to say good-bye. And no matter when we have to do so, it hurts. We cry. We ask why? And it’s okay to ask why. Even more okay to not like any answers you hear…
But what do we do after the sobbing subsides and our hearts start to wonder? Wonder what more can we do to help those that are in the worst pain imaginable - those who’ve lost a child. We are there with them in their grief as much as we can be. We think of them. Pray for them. Hold them close. But what more can we do?
Last night, I felt the need to do something for those little lives lost up in Connecticut. But what? I already know I can’t go back in time to fix the unexpected. The unexplainable. The unimaginable…
I told my children last night that we’d do something as a family to help remember. And it helped them feel some control. Some relief. They’ve practiced “lock down” drills at school this week and have heard varied reports from classmates on what happened at that school in Connecticut. They’re scared and worried too. Although, I COULD NOT bribe them with anything the Monday after to keep them home. They wanted to go to school. See their friends. See their teachers. So I let them go. And cried buckets after they were inside, as I’m sure so many others were.
Nothing like this will ever make sense. Nothing we can do will ever be able to undo it. Nothing can take away the pain from the loss their families and friends feel.
But there is something that we can do. I had an idea last night and was excited to be able to do something in remembrance of those little lives and the adults who died trying to save them. But the more I thought about it, I didn’t want to keep it to myself. What if others want to do something to help too?
So I wrote a poem that I’ll post soon. I hope that by doing this – 20 Little Luminaries – it’ll help ease some of our grief and aid in the remembrance of those who were lost.