Our Terror. Our Pain.

Here at the Bollinger house, we have not watched a single televised report about the horrific tragedy that occurred in Newtown, CT, yesterday. Scott and I have discussed the violent incident with everyone but Genevieve. We’ve hugged those who are our own tighter, longer, but we are still aching for the families and children who are part of the collective “Us.”  Their pain is heavy. Our pain is heavy.

This early morning, after feeding the dog and letting her out, I flipped on the section of ceiling lights that shine from above the kitchen island and I spread out the NY Times. The dog came back in from outside, returned to her red chair and went back to sleep as she does every morning. All was quiet in my house. My family and dog slept soundly, snugly, safely. I read every account and report about the terror that befell the idyllic woodsy Connecticut town.

Here are the words, from one of the reports, that got me the most.

“During the shooting, students were told by teachers and police officers to shut their eyes, keep them shut, and run.”

The terror of it. The sheer terror leaves me speechless and struggling for air. The terror makes it hard to breathe. The pain of the aftermath is so heavy. The pain is so heavy.


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