Boston

I’m so lucky tiptoe into my Children’s room at night and watch them sleep.  I’m so lucky to feel their breath on my face as I lean in for one more silent kiss.  I’m so lucky to quietly sneak around their room, turning off their bed lamps, leaving them in a quiet whisper of darkness as they tangle themselves in blankets.  I’m so lucky to be awoken each morning by the footsteps of Daughter as she makes her way into our bed to snuggle for a few precious minutes before announcing that, really, Mama...it’s time to wake up.  I’m so lucky to be able to get frustrated with my Children.  To put them in time outs.  To laugh at their jokes.  To listen to their extremely detailed stories.  They are mine.  And I love them more than anything.  The thought of losing them is so extremely painful that one must not think of it.

As I watch the coverage of the Boston bombings, my mind can’t help but wander, wondering if our city, our town, is only a news story away from being the next sensational act of terror.  Why couldn’t it be?  Why shouldn’t it be?  This new reality...this constant threat of lives destroyed by shameless terror attacks...is this the world my Children are inheriting?  As I laid in bed last night, my mind swirled with thoughts; dark thoughts.  I thought of all the places we go as a family where something like this could happen.  I wondered how we would stay together.  How we would survive.  What would we do?  The tears squeezed out from my eyes and I rolled over to ask Husband...what is going to happen?  How does this keep happening?  There is no innocence.  How can my Children live in this world when there is no innocence left?  He held me tight and let me cry.  I’m so lucky.

It seems almost cruel that in such times of tragedy and terror, we are reminded so much of the beauty and inherent goodness of humankind.  Strangers helping strangers.  People concerned more about the welfare of their neighbor than themselves.  How a nation that is too often divided and hateful to each other can still unite and put aside all of those differences to help lift one another up.  Don’t we learn from this?  When will we learn that we can always act in kindness and love?  To be patient and tolerant of those around us?  Can it last longer than a few weeks?  A couple of months?  How long before we argue about guns?  How long before we berate someone for being different from us?  For having different beliefs, different love?  How long?

As I woke up with my Children this morning and hustled them along in their morning routines, Son was enthusiastically explaining to me how some people live in space.  Can you believe that, Mama?  Some people live in SPACE!  Oh yes, they do, Son.  Isn’t that amazing?  And Daughter piped in explaining that of course there must be a mailman in space, too.  How else would those people in space get their mail?  I smiled and laughed and almost suggested that maybe their families on Earth would keep their mail for them until they return from space.  But then I thought better of it.  

Let them keep that innocence.  Just for now.  

Space Mailman.  Totally exists.  

God Bless you, Boston.