Just blood-chilling horror that twists our hearts with questions. As in the massacre of twenty 6 and 7 year olds in Newtown, Connecticut.
There are the dead children’s Christmas presents wrapped in Santa paper or paper with pictures of bicycles, tied by parents with big red bows and hidden in closets ready to go under the tree. There were the long lines endured at Toys R Us.
How can they look at presents filled with surprises without screaming or throwing up? One hopes a relative or neighbor took them out of the house. As if that mattered really, in the larger sense of what lethal explosions life can hurl at us, like the atomic bomb that destroys in every direction.
One can only hope that whatever kicks into our bodies to temporarily numb them has kicked into the body chemistry of these parents. To wrap a smokescreen around the ever-present image of your child barraged by stinging bullets from a terrifying man with a huge rifle.
Does the fact that your child’s death is multiplied by twenty increase the wild pain? Or does sharing it help.
One can only send waves and waves of loving empathy into the hearts of the mommies and daddies and brothers and sisters and become those parents for a moment. We all blend.
With love to all,