Ten years ago, the day of the Sandy Hook shooting happened to coincide with the day of my oldest son's Christmas pageant at his elementary school. He was in kindergarten.
As I recall, the early reports that came in that afternoon had reported a shooting at a school with two dead -- maybe one of them was the shooter. Sadly, a shooting at a school was not an unusual report -- at least, not initially. Shortly before my wife and I left our house to go to the pageant, there was an update. Twenty-six people were killed -- the majority of them young children.
The pageant was filled with elementary school kids, filled with excitement to be doing a play but in all honesty, probably more excited about the impending break. It was impossible not to compare their ages to the ages of the children of Sandy Hook. The parents in the auditorium had forced smiles as their kids ran around, oblivious to the tragedies of the world.
Before the program began, the principal spoke and asked for a moment of silence for the day's event -- her words carefully worded so as not to clue any of the children in on the unspeakable tragedy that had happened earlier. Many of the kids chattered on through the moment of silence, unaware of what it was for or what it represented. I assume that all parents were thinking the same type of thoughts that I was.
What if that happened at my kid's school?
A horrible thought that one immediately pushes out of his head -- only to have it return a few seconds later. I don't know how parents who have lost children survive. The mere thought of it wrecks me.
Tonight was my youngest son's closing ceremony for his Little League baseball season. He made the All-Star Team! He was so excited. We were so excited.
And again, we filed into an auditorium filled with kids, oblivious to the day's events. Again, a speaker held a moment of silence using words ambiguous enough to keep reality away from the hyper children in the room. Again, the parents looked at each other with forced smiles. Again, I assumed the parents in the room thought the same type of thoughts I was having.
Every day, I drive my kids to school. My oldest still hasn't gotten his driver's license, which I'm secretly happy about. I'm still trying to soak up even the smallest moments where he still needs me. But every morning, when I drop them off at their respective schools, I tell them I love them.
And I keep trying to push out those horrible thoughts.
What if that happened at my kid's school?
It's at the back of my mind every time they get out of my car and go into the care of somebody else who isn't me.
Every. Damn. Time.
This is the world we live in and it is a very dark place. Especially on days like today. And that day in December ten years ago. And the multitude of days in between. And the days before Sandy Hook. And without a doubt, the days that are bound to come.
Is gun control the answer? I'm not here to debate that. It certainly wouldn't hurt, but I doubt it would be a cure-all by any stretch of the imagination. I will say that the politicians who speed to the podium to instantly absolve guns from any level of culpability make me want to vomit.
Offering thoughts and prayers has become so overused that it has become insulting.
The reality is there are no answers in the face of tragedy. Today, the pain is fresh. Tomorrow, the pain may be just a slight bit less than the day before. At some point, maybe it will settle into just a tolerable level of numbness.
I have no solutions. I just have thoughts and prayers. My thoughts are of those who lost their lives and their families and loved ones.
My prayers are that it never happens to my children.
I've said the same prayer every day since they were born.
It's all I know to do anymore.
