I’m taking my emotionally drained self to bed. This shooting has hollowed me out. Too much empathy and I cried earlier. Couple glasses of wine and the nightly news and it was a rain fest. I really lost it. Little innocent children, all 20 of them dead.
Walker’s passions are her juice, her ice cream, her play dates. She’s so bright but emotionally she’s 9. Bocce in the front yard. Can she walk a big dog? Fire pit in the backyard. Silly little stuff that makes her day. This is what makes her happy. Not money. Not power. Not fame.
And I sweat all the little stupid day to day stuff: how can I make her lunch less processed, less sugary and more balanced health wise? Am I supporting her well enough emotionally? She’s a bean pole, so the pants are starting to creep up. I have to keep up with her growth. Does she have the books she needs because she’s burning through them. Am I cooking enough? (NO!)
So, every parent agonizes like this. And then, you drop your kid at school still agonizing over all this silly detail so they are the best that they can be because they are your heart walking around out in another body. And some fucker murders them. Because he’s angry. Because his life isn’t what he’s hoped it would be.
And all of that CARE for your little child—all of that doting care is for naught. Because a monster snuffed out the life of your precious heart. And that is what kills me. And that’s what I focus on when I think of those caring parents that sent their hearts out on tiny little legs, to the school today, entrusting their safety.
