April 18, 2013
So this has been quite a week, no? I'm just...ugh. Boston.
Tuesday's post had been scheduled months in advance, as most sponsored posts are, and I admit it was nice to stick my fingers in my ears and just post the blogging equivalent of LA LA LA LA LA LA ANYTHING ELSE. LET'S TALK ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE.
But it's been hard coming up with the next thing to say. Maybe because there just isn't anything to say.
My brother lives in Boston. Jason's brother lives in Boston. My nephew, his niece, our sister-in-law. They are fine. I feel stupid even bringing them up because they weren't anywhere in the vicinity of what happened on Monday, but...you know. It's the first place your brain goes.
The second place my personal brain goes is right back to the morning of 9/11. I was 24. Stuck in traffic on a bridge heading from D.C. to my office in Virginia, listening to the awful news unfold on the radio. Suddenly seeing black wisps of smoke in the sky on the horizon, down the Potomac. Realizing it was from the Pentagon. Realizing that nothing would ever, ever be the same again.
First Newtown, now Boston, both events with victims near the age of my own child, both events that leave me almost trembling at the daunting task of keeping my babies safe, of all the years ahead and all the terrible randomness of it all. And of course it won't ever stop. Eight years old or 29; that's still someone's baby and I just can't. I just can't even.
In the days following these things I get inundated with emails from "experts" pitching articles or offering interviews and tips on talking to your kids about what happened. The Mister Rogers "look for the helpers" quote (which I reread and repeat for my own grown-up sanity, actually) makes the rounds on Facebook.
My kids are all still at an age where...well, we just don't talk about it yet. They don't know about Aurora or Newtown or Boston, or any of the news stories that cause me to put my hand on my heart and turn away from the laptop screen. Noah still repeatedly asks if there "really is such thing as ROBBERS," because stealing is about the worst crime he can currently fathom. They don't know about the bad things that can happen, that can happen to innocent little kids, that mommies and daddies and policemen can't stop from happening. They watch my brow furrow as I thumb through news coverage on my phone and ask what game I'm playing. They indulge my need for extra hugs and laugh because "you're squeezing me too tight, Mom! let gooooo!"
Some day they'll have the moment that I did out on that bridge. That moment of shocking, mortal clarity where you just realize...everything. All of it. Just like that.
But not yet. Not this week. Not on my watch.