It’s very quiet here today. Ben is gone and we are are moving around the house like timid mice. The kids and I tried to take in the news of the shooting yesterday, but it wasn’t until last night, right before bed that we began to feel. I think I said something quietly about feeling so sad for mothers who don’t have their babies to tuck in anymore and then the weight of it came down on all of us.
Haven and I sat on the couch and sobbed. Tim bit his bottom lip. Libby, our youngest and most optimistic thought maybe all the families who lost children might get homes from the Extreme Home Make-Over show. Everyone needs someone like Libby in the family.
We had some plans today, but I couldn’t get myself together enough to leave the house. I have alternated between rage and grief. We are all wired to participate in grief differently. Some of us will remind the rest of us of God’s love and sovereignty Some of us will take on battles like security in schools or gun control. Some of us will tend to hurting families. Some of us will pray.
And shouldn’t some of us be screaming in the street? I know it’s not really an American tradition. We are more accustomed to quiet, candle-lit vigils and I like those too but something in me says this calls for screaming and weeping and tearing at our clothes. I need to scream and wail.
Instead I will wander around here and try to stay out of scrappy fights on Facebook. I will light a candle to help direct my thoughts and feelings to prayer and I will try and feed us all and fold the laundry and hug the kids a lot.