I started the day in my kids’ school.
I was there to sort chocolates. Our annual school fundraiser involves a lot of chocolate, and that chocolate shows up and needs to divvied into orders.
(Want to see what 11 grand worth of chocolate looks like? Here you go.)
I got to hang out with friends, eat a little chocolate, and even got to see both my babies in the hallway, and hug them. I saw their friends, gave out some high fives. I said hi to the teachers they’ve had over the years.
I love that school. I feel at home there.
As I was loving, appreciating, reveling in my time at school, this was happening, at a school across the continent.
I didn’t know about it until I was driving away. The announcer on the radio gave the barest of details, all there was available at the time. I heard the words. I started to realize what it was that he was actually saying.
I immediately tried to block it out.
It was too much horrible, and I greedily wanted to hold onto the seconds before I knew about it.
My brain and my body had other plans.
I started to shake. Uncontrollably. Within seconds, I was sobbing, and yelling “What the FUCK?” at the steering wheel.
And imagining my kids in the place of the kids in Connecticut.
I’ve always said that to be a parent is to live in a state of low grade terror. To exist with a vital organ on the outside of your body, exposed and unprotected.
Tonight, I don’t want to argue about gun control, violence in the media, cynicism, any of it.
Tonight I am so fucking grateful for those two beautiful blonde gifts, asleep up in their rooms. I am grateful for my warm house and the gorgeous man beside me and the twinkle of the lights on the Christmas tree.
Tonight it is all bright as hell.