There’s this thing that I have to write. And it’s been the Great Wall of China between me and anything else I could possibly write.
This friend of mine lost her daughter. This friend of mine lost her very young daughter in a way that no mother should ever have to.
And bearing witness to that ripped me apart. But that was nothing compared to what it took for her to make it through.
I was so lucky to have a few friends who held me up, while I held her up. But it didn’t stop the soul-aching buckle of shouldering that with her. I collapsed. She broke. The world split open in the face of her baby being taken from her.
We aren’t meant to outlast the ones who came after us, you know? We’re supposed to be here, and they’re supposed to be there when we’re gone. Torch passing, and whatnot.
For some reason, the sick unfolding of events saw fit that she didn’t get that luxury. And so all I’m left with is this wonder. How and why? There must be a reason. I don’t know what it is.
But I know that I’ve hugged my kids extra hard. I loved my life even more. I appreciated my days and counted my blessings. I decided to stop bitching about things that don’t matter.
Because what matters is I can hug my babies today. I can tell them how hard I love them. And, god willing, I can hug them tomorrow.
Not every mother is so lucky.
*this post brought to you by my experiences following the Newtown tragedy. Hug your kids, and let us not forget so quickly that so many can’t.