Death

A child is dead. It's a horrible, awful, ugly experience. It feels like someone pulling the shades over your very soul and erasing the sun from your memory. It feels like being gutted and sucker punched, and hollowed out simultaneously while demanding that you maintain a strength, clarity, and endurance that you are not capable of. A child is dead and it's awful and painful and devastating.

Burying your face in your hands, or being incapable of tears, because the weight is too much to bare. Screaming out between the heaving and the sobbing "Why? Why? WHY?"

The misinformation is astounding. How quickly people make assessments and opinions and determinations. You weren't paying attention. This is your fault. You should have been more aware, more present, more attentive. This wouldn't have happened if you had done something differently. You should have done random drug tests, or stalked their cell phone. You should have placed armed guards outside of their school. You should have fed them only organic food. You should have carried those babies for much longer than you did. You should have, you should have, you should have.

As if everyone else's version of "you should have" somehow could drown out the chorus of it playing over and over again, like a broken record in your own head: Why didn't I? Why didn't I? Why didn't I?

Tragedy is ugly. Why are we so uncomfortable with accepting it? Why do we have to make laws, or have protests, or need vengeance? Why does there always have to be blame? Why do I always have to find blame?

A child is dead and I'm angry. I want justice, vengeance, change. I want to "be certain" that this will never ever happen again. But I can't be. I can't undo the actions of cells going crazy, or lake's with quick sand, or gunmen that are insane, or a body that just can't.keep.going... I can't undo the very actions of God, or prevent the hurts from happening to someone else. But I can embrace and pour out love on a tragedy that is consumed with loss. I can weep and mourn and celebrate the life that existed. I can honor the memory of the person I loved.

A child is dead. It's a horrible, awful, ugly experience.