Miss M: Are we rich, Mum?
Me: Well, what does rich mean?
Miss M: I think it means you have everything you want in the world
Me: Okay, then. So, do you think we’re rich?
Miss M: I think we are the richest, Mum, because we have lots of people who we love and who love us and that means we have everything we want in the world.
Today, this little conversation between my daughter and I means more to me than ever.
Today, when TWENTY (I cannot get my head around this number) children were senselessly taken from their families. Today, when TWENTY EIGHT families lost their loved ones. Today, when evil triumphed so monumentally over the purest of all goodness.
Today, I will hug my kids until they beg me to stop. I will tell them I love them. I will stroke their hair. I will watch them laugh. I will listen to their same knock-knock jokes that they told me all day yesterday. Tonight, when they are asleep, I will watch their chests rise and fall with every precious breath. I’ll be endlessly grateful for my riches, my little human treasures. I’ll rejoice in their messy bedrooms and toothpaste smears in the bathroom and legos on the floor and dirty fingerprints on the wall and unmade beds.
Today, I will force myself – despite the aching in my heart – to try to feel joy. I will make a point of acknowledging that goodness is still everywhere. Even in Connecticut – where horror struck with terrifying precision – goodness still wins. Its not easy to see, but look and boy, will you see it. It’s there in the teachers who bravely hid their children in closets and locked them in classrooms. It’s there in the nurse who ran towards the scene, begging to help, as others fled. It’s there in the thousands of candles being lit around the world by strangers to honour those who were taken. It’s there in the compassion of rescue workers. Its there in the tears pouring down cheeks in the UK, Australia, Israel, Canada, South Africa… everywhere. It’s there.
Yes, evil triumphed today. But goodness didn’t die. Far from it.
Today I will hug my children. I will let them eat ice-cream. I will do that one more puzzle.
I will do all these things, all the while feeling the heaviest guilt that I get to be with my children, while TWENTY other mothers in Connecticut are forced to comprehend a world without theirs. Their pain is unimaginable. My brain won’t even go there. Can’t go there. How do they even begin to live their lives after this? How? I can’t help them. I can’t write magic words to ease their suffering. I can’t do anything. Nobody can. Their fractured families can’t be fixed.
So, I’ll do what I can – I’ll hug my children. I’ll light a candle. I’ll focus on seeking out goodness. I’ll pray. I’ll do an act of kindness in honour of each victim and ask you to do the same. I will also look at the pictures and read the tributes about the victims, even as it rips my heart to pieces, and try to remember them, not the incident that ended their lives.
To the families who have been affected by this unspeakable tragedy, please know that there are people all over the world sobbing for you, aching for you and feeling for you. Among them, this one mum in Australia who is hugging her babies extra tight today, while, with a heavy heart, she prays for yours.
If you liked this post, please share it with your friends using the icons below, and I’ll love you intensely if you comment, so please don’t be shy (comments make me do a happy dance). You can also join the fun on Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter.
You can also follow my blog with Bloglovin.
If you would like to have They Call Me Mummy delivered to your inbox, fill in your email address below or in the sidebar. (I never share email addresses and I promise to never *gasp* SPAM you.)