Fall is probably my favorite season, thanks in large
part to all the fun, outdoorsy, family-friendly things to do. Likely for these reasons, it's been on my mind almost constantly over these last couple of months, though it's not like I ever forgot. But whether watching my small monsters carve pumpkins while
wielding sharp objects and making a giant pumpkin-guts mess; or watching the
posses of sugar-fueled trick-or-treaters roaming the neighborhood, my thoughts
keep returning to the victims, and to the parents of the victims, of the Newtown, CT, school
shooting last December.
As Thanksgiving came and went, those families were on my
mind all the more as my constant thought throughout the month was how grateful
I am to have a family that is happy and healthy and safe, and that I am
grateful that my problems are small, in the grand scheme of things. Which is
probably exactly how those families felt just last year at Thanksgiving, mere
weeks before the unimaginable happened and the courses of their lives were
forever changed.
It has been almost a year since that day, and the families
have endured almost all the firsts…the first Christmas without their children,
first Valentine’s Day, spring, summer, fall, birthdays, Halloween,
Thanksgiving, and, soon, the first anniversary of the deaths of their precious
children. The media focus, the community focus, the world focus that will be on
them in the days leading up to December 14…I don’t know how they will manage it. The grief they live with daily is
unimaginable; to do so publicly in a country that watched them suffer and then
couldn’t even pass any of the gun legislation
they lobbied so passionately for is even more unfathomable.
When I think of the shooting, there’s one face in particular
that comes to mind. His name was Dylan and his vivid, mischievous blue eyes
were so beautiful. And, just as clearly, I see the haunted, devastated eyes of
his mother. Her face stayed with me as the picture of
heartbreak. A little guiltily, I am always so thankful that I don’t know that
kind of suffering, and I hope I never do. But I am also always plagued with fear that horrible things
happen to ordinary families. Families like ours. A year ago, so many families
in Newtown, CT, were just normal people, living normal lives, when the most
abnormal thing happened to them…randomly, without warning. The reminder that so
much in life is completely out of our control is such a devastating, terrifying
reality.
I was driving to Liam’s pre-school the other day to pick him
up. I saw a man walking on the sidewalk with what I initially thought was a
gun. On second look, it was a big L-shaped metal tool. But I see possible harm
everywhere now, where is doesn’t really exist. The horrors of that day in Newtown struck a fear in me that
refuses to leave…the paranoia that a violent event can be waiting for me or my
family anywhere, even in the least likely of places. When I walk into the kids’
schools, my first thought is “How unsafe this is.” There’s only one door that
shields my precious children from the craziness in the world. I have the same
thought at the gymnastics studio, at the community pool, at WalMart…that
there’s no guaranteed way to stop a bad guy, should one of them arrive with a
well-devised plan and lots of ammunition.
After a tragedy, there’s often a search for the lesson to be
learned, for the ‘good’ to come from the bad. If there’s a ‘good’ anywhere in
this, maybe it’s the threat of loss that helps me focus on the good in life and
appreciate it all…especially those days, of which there are plenty, when I want
to pull out all my hair and surrender myself to a facility with padded cells. I often remind
myself that those parents would give absolutely anything to see their kid have
a tantrum or make a giant mess or shove their sibling. The thought is sobering.
Sometimes I look at my children and their goofy little faces
just choke me up. The delicacy of their features are almost doll-like, the long
eyelashes like paint on porcelain. The sound of their voices and giggles are so
precious; the intricacies of their personalities make each of them so uniquely
special. I think of their potential, imagine their future. I can’t imagine them
not having a future. This is the
danger of loving. While the potential
for joy is immense, so is the potential for suffering.
As the Newtown families approach the last of these
“milestone” firsts, my thoughts are with them, as they have been all along. Their
losses remind me that a day that ends with the well-being of my family is a
good day. Their losses remind me to be thankful for all that is good…not just
at this time of year, but every single day.
