In between swallowing back the crying lump and blinking back the tears, I’m fighting back the urge to scoop my daughter up from school.
Even as I’m heartsick, nervous and wondering if there’s any place safe or sacred anymore, my kid’s at school. Going about her ten-year-old business. Either chatting when she’s not supposed to be chatting; or most likely, making her dad’s birthday card right now.
The last thing on her mind is a lunatic desecrating her school – a place that Jamie and I consider to be a zone of safety – with a loaded gun. I hate that the consideration or threat of it happening even makes it onto my radar screen. I hate that right now, this tragedy is already evolving into battle of special interests.
I hate that screaming “Mama!!” or “Daddy!!” isn't enough to scare off the nightmarish bogie men of real life.
As hard as it is, I know I can’t let her see me being heartsick and nervous about this crazy, scary world. So until I pick her up, maybe I’ll just let the crying lump burst its way through and wipe away the tears as I mourn for those little ones and their parents while I pray for God’s grace over the whole situation.
And when we get home, it’ll be a No Newsday.