I found myself wiping silent tears from my eyes as I thought about the families who lost their babies. The breakfast tables that are a seat short this morning The families who lost their only child who wake up to a childless home. The siblings who no longer have a comrade to play with before school. The homes whose noise levels are a decibel lower than normal this morning.
After breakfast, I attempted to round them up to get their shoes and coats on. They innocently turned the tv remotes into guns and talked about bombs and shooting things. I winced at the words, though they meant nothing to the boys. Its typical boy play to them, and the devastation that I learned about on Friday is incomprehensible to them. I wish it were still incomprehensible to myself and the rest of the country.
I didn't expect to feel so impacted this morning as I dropped Porter off. I can't help but put his school in place of Sandy Hook. His teacher in place of a Sandy Hook teacher. His class in place of a Sandy Hook class. The thought of a mass murderer barreling through the halls of his school, terrorizing classrooms of sweet, innocent children. My children. His friends, classmates, teachers, school staff. People I know and love. The thought is incomprehensible, yet now it has been done. It could be any school. Anywhere.
As I dropped Porter off, I tried to soak up every ounce of him. His tender kiss before he leapt out of the van. His shaggy hair sticking out of the bottom of the cheezy ballcap he traded a friend for a matchbox car. His toothless grin as he turned and waved to me before bounding off towards the front doors of the school. We never know when it will be the last. We never know when the incomprehensible will happen.