When I started blogging, I made a commitment to my family not to talk about my family. There are many reasons for this, and they don’t matter but that I love my family. So I’m going out on a limb here, and going to allude to my family. It’s okay with them.
No person can ever know what another feels. Despite approximately 5000 years of cultural representations of both pain and joy and love, what one feels stays in one’s head. I do not know the pain of the Sandy Hook parents, but I know about it. To me, there is nothing harder than losing a child. Losing a parent hurts. I remember what one person wrote after his father died “I knew it was a blessing that he could die before his children, but why did it have to be so soon?”.
A child is both a fragile bubble and a robust block. A child is a pain in the ass and an joy beyond measure. To lose a child is to lose part of one’s future, one’s life, a piece of one’s self that can never be replaced. To lose a child is to lose a promise to life: I will love you, I will keep you safe, I will make sure you can become the person that you want to be. To lose a child … it can never be fixed. Time may scab over the wound, but it is so easy to have it picked off. No one else does it on purpose to you, it just happens every day, and maybe then, after a while, every week. And then something happens, and I look down at my chest, and I am surprised that it is not bleeding, because it feels like I am dying all over again.
There is more I intended to say here, about Sandy Hook and parents, but I can’t. I just can’t. I’ve picked open my own scab this time.