Tears

Last night, I took my shot and settled in for the night.  Unfortunately, I was lucky enough to be blessed with the side effect of insomnia.  I grabbed a short sweet Christmas book and set off reading.  As I approached the end, I couldn't stop the tears.   You need to know that when I read, I become emotionally engaged in what I am reading.  It is as though the people become real.  I was so happy for the characters at the end of the book.  The book had the typical "happy Christmas story" ending.

But then, the tears wouldn't stop.  My mind drifted to Connecticut.  Since Friday, like many of you, I have been listening and reading about the tragedy.  I think I had emotionally separated myself from the realization of what it truly meant.  I, like many, "intellectualized" the events.  But last night, it all came flooding out.

I cried for those who won't have the happy Christmas ending like the characters in the book.  I cried for all those parents who have purchased gifts, but won't be able to share them.  I cried for family members who will stare at stockings of children who are no longer there.  I cried for the teachers who protected their students.  I cried for the first responders who had to witness such a gruesome scene.  I cried for those kids who closed their eyes and were lead out of the building.  On and on it went.  My mind jumped from one scenario to another and I truly sobbed.

I wanted to see my babies.  I went down stairs and checked on Zach.  It was midnight and he was still up trying to get caught up on the homework he missed last week.  The homework?  We will get it done.  I just wanted him to know I love him.

Lizzie was sound asleep (or so I thought.)  But, when I brushed the hair off her forehead, she woke up. I took her temperature (might as well, I thought) and kissed her goodnight.  But then, I asked if she wanted to sleep with us.  She was shocked.  Really?  Yes, really.  I wanted to hold her.  I did send her back to her bed as I quickly remembered how hard it is to sleep with that helicopter of a kid.

Jacob had laid in my bed earlier and talked about the musical that was approaching.  We were sharing our concerns and nerves.  As I checked on him later, he was cuddled in the fort he has built over his bed.  The dog was cuddled up on him.  I just looked and said a quiet love you.

I woke up Brian sobbing.  Reality had set in.  It could have been him.  It could have been my kids.  It could have been me.  There are no guarantees.  I cried and mourned.  I believe Brian thought I had lost my mind.  He comforted me for a few minutes and drifted back to sleep.

Finally, I felt my body readying itself for sleep.  I know that I can't live my life in fear.  I can't allow this tragedy to paralyze me.  After I mourned, I felt better.

Then, this morning, I got to play the part of a crazy choir director during our Children's Musical program.  My children will tell you that I was embarrasingly crazy.  For two scenes, I was off the stage.  I sat and listened to little voices singing.  I listened to beautiful proud voices coming from little children singing solos.  My eyes leaked again.  This time, I cried because of the beauty of it.  Little children singing their hearts out.  I also shed a few tears for those parents who won't hear their children sing in a program again.  I relished every minute of this morning.

Sitting in church and looking around, I was reminded this morning that it is not just families in Connecticut who will be mourning this Christmas.  It is everyone who has lost someone too early this year.  It is those parents who will pull out Christmas decorations made by a child who is no longer with them.  The parents who were excited to share the news of a pregnancy at Christmas but instead mourn the baby that was miscarried.  Both examples of a child who is gone way too early.

We are all asking what we can do to help those in Connecticut.  I am not suggesting we forget about them.  Pray?  Certainly!   Want to send money to help fund funerals?  Do it.  Want to send cards of encouragement or condolence?  Do it.  But please, remember those around you everyday who need a shoulder to cry on during this time.  A person to hug as they began to live the reality of the first Christmas without their child or other loved one.

I implore us all to celebrate Christmas stories that end up "neatly wrapped in bows" like the book's ending.  At the same time,  provide love and support whose Christmas' might not be wrapped as nicely.

Merry Christmas to you all and may God bless you.