Not a Dream

As I sit drinking my coffee and reading my devotional this morning, I am struck by the awful reality of what happened yesterday at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Connecticut. And my heart aches with the knowledge of how those parents feel and will feel every day of their lives at the moment they awaken for a long, long time. That horrible awareness accompanied by a vice grip on the heart that it was not a dream. He’s gone. She’s gone.

And Christmas, Chanukah, will never be the same for the families–mothers, fathers, grandparents (tears sting beneath my eyes), siblings, and other family members. Lives ruined by the random act of a . . . young boy, hardly more than a child himself.

Never be the same. All who have lost someone whether, a day, a month, a year, know the raw, freshness of the wound. The most joyful, glorious celebrations of life and light, special times . . . especially for children. What’s to celebrate? Not this year.

I picture a mother beside a tree or a menorah, gifts for the little one short-circuited into eternity. I feel the emptiness, the cold vacuum of emptiness encompassing the heart, the soul, and I remember my own unwillingness to EVER be happy again, to celebrate anything. As though somehow if I did it would profane the memories of the lost loved one. Because in the end all that remains are memories. And memories, though dear, are a cheat. Phantoms that fade with each passing year taking more and more of the substance of my loved one with them.

Keeping everything the same will become a mission, a crusade, because somehow that denies the ugly truth that the loved one is gone. Just as the relinquishing of some personal item to another family member . . . Here, something to remember him by . . . takes with it a slice of the heart. They will hang on to everything for as long as they can, because . . . I cannot bear losing you. My life is pointless from now on.

This is the nature of empathy. My heart breaks.

What is the future? Guilt and anger filter down into the soul at the oddest moments. When my own son was attacked by a crazed young man right in front of my own house, I remember feeling helpless futility because I could not protect him. Parents are supposed to protect their children. But I couldn’t. The parents in Newtown couldn’t. Our ability to do so is an illusion. Life, so fragile, so fleeting, almost never under our control, although we think it is. Fight to make it so.

Thank God we succeed most of the time.

The desire for revenge was so strong it invaded my life for many years. In this instance, there will be no revenge, not even a trial. So parents are left with nothing but heart ache, regret, a sense of utter failure. And the survivors must deal with, Why am I still here? No one escapes unscathed. All of us who saw pictures like this will never forget.

　

The image of a young father weeping beside a fire truck comes to mind. Inconsolable. Crushed. I pray for his marriage to hold together, because I know that losing a child often destroys what there is between mother and father. The desire . . . the NEED to lay the blame at someone’s feet, so human, so useless, and so destructive.

Where can I go for consolation? What can make me feel better? What could I have done differently?

There will never be a satisfactory explanation for what happened yesterday. And souls will be lacerated on the deepest level trying to puzzle it out. We’ll tear ourselves apart looking for reasons, ways to prevent such occurrences in the future. Politicians will posture, relegionists will pontificate, but bottom line is that evil will always find a way no matter what we do.

People will blame God; get mad at Him. I did. Others will run to Him, knowing Him as the only Hope they have. Did that, too. I don’t know anyone who ever said, "It’s okay. My loved one lived long enough." There’s never enough life time.

When my dear husband died, my pastor in Redding called it "a divine appointment." Even though I didn’t like it, I believe that’s what it was. Is that what happened yesterday? NO. God is the giver of life. This was an evil action perpetrated on the human race by the Hater of the human race. He wants us mad at God, turning away from Him.

And I decide, "I will not play into the Enemy’s hand."

Psalm 121. I will lift up my eyes to the hills. Where shall my help come from?My help comes from the Lord, who made Heaven and earth. 

            He will not allow your foot to be moved; He who keeps you will . . . neither 

            slumber nor sleep.