I have no words, except maybe this mantra, spoken under my breath in repetition: "pain, pain, pain."
The communal pain we all feel when our society suffers tragedy.
In the crowd yesterday, an eight year old boy.
I stop breathing when I think about it.
In silence, my heart hurts. In silence I look around my life, this little micro-shelter, this tiny pocket of the world where I feel safe. And I am thankful. I am confused and afraid of the world outside. I think of the people whose hearts were full of excitement, not knowing that they were standing next to a bomb.
I feel sick.
So terribly sad.
My excitement about today being the day that I complete the spring musical costume pieces, my excitement about being able to burn 900 calories at the gym, my happiness about planning a lovely birthday event for Richard and my joyful expectation of an upcoming visit from my brothers is muted.
This is just how I feel now. More than ever, I feel called to pursue a new path in compassion and compassion education.
When I'm down, I feel the pain fully, but also recognize that there's also a quiet sense of gratitude.
For these quiet, peaceful moments. When Elliot learns to play "happy birthday" while his stuffed dog named "red eyes" holds the music book.
Pain, pain, pain.
He's so beautiful it hurts.
Dear God, send comfort and love and healing to all those who are grieving such devastating losses.