It's Monday evening at 7:25 pm. I should be getting the children ready for their 8 pm bedtime. Instead, they are in the boys room playing a creative game with their stuffed animals. It has something to do with jail and sounds slightly sinister.
I, however, am sitting on my bed typing with tears sliding down my cheeks. I have a lump in my throat and I can't shake a feeling of horror and incredible sadness. Nothing happened to my family today.
Something terrifying happened to my human family. I read this: President Barack Obama said authorities did not know who carried out the attack but vowed to render “the full weight of justice” against those responsible. Minutes later, law enforcement officials said that an 8-year-old child was one of the dead. on nbcnews.com
8 years old... my oldest son is 8. I've been a parent for 8 years and I can not imagine him being taken away from me. How dare someone think that it is okay to end such an innocent young life.
I've waited for runners in marathons at much less pretigious races. I've watched a loved one cross that line that they trained for and felt that immense pride for them. I've wanted to be a runner. I've taken my kids to races and they stood innocently watching and clapping for a friend.
It's taking me a long time to type this. I'm so shaken up with sadness, horror, and disgust. I want my husband to come home from work and I want us to lock the door and not emerge for a long time. I want us to remain safe in our little bubble.
It's 14 minutes later. The children have finished their game and need to get ready for bed. I can pretend we are in our safe bubble for just over twelve hours. Then life will have to go back to our regular routine. My heart and thoughts are with those in Boston. I wish these acts of violence weren't apart of our world.
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