This Is Not My Home.

After my dad died, I cried every morning in the shower. It is safe to cry in the shower. No one hears you. You’re wet everywhere so no little hands reach up to wipe tears. The tears mix in with the rest of the water. Your eyes are red because you got shampoo in them. So careless. I could cry without anyone trying to care for me, feel sorry for me, pity me, fix me.

My morning routine started by slathering Preparation H around my eyes to conceal the shower crying. Friends, here’s an awesome beauty tip: Hemorrhoid cream does wonders for eyes puffy from crying, not sleeping, drinking, allergies…whatever. For real.

I have been through tragedies, but this time, I had three people who were relying on me not to fall apart. When my first brother died, I completely fell apart. I could. I was 16. No one relied on me. The people around me held me and worried about me and picked me up. Unexpectedly losing someone you think is invincible makes you feel really small and vulnerable.

When my good friend died of cancer, it wasn’t as bad. I am not minimizing her death, but I had months to get used to the idea that she was going to die. I could say goodbye. I told her I loved her a million times. We talked about how bad it sucked and how unfair life could be sometimes. And we cried and we laughed, but we prepared.

When my second brother died, it was the worst. Suicide is the worst. No preparation. No conspiracy theories. Nothing left but a big pile of regret and guilt and questions. People said that I would be mad at him. How could I be mad at him for being in so much pain? I was mad at lots of people, but he wasn’t one of them.

For a long time, I felt a sense of safety in pain. Well, at least it can’t get any worse. But don’t say that or think that or God forbid allow yourself to believe that because it can. It can get worse. It couldn’t get any worse than my brother dying unexpectedly until my other brother chose to die. Well, it couldn’t get any worse than…Yes. Yes, it could.

I have dealt with the pain and the questions and the stages of grief more times than I can count. Grief, pain, tragedy have become like my hometown. I don’t live there anymore, but I visit from time to time. I remember the streets and can still find my way around. Lots of things look the same. Some places have changed. Some people have moved away, but some still live there.

It’s a choice. It’s my choice. It’s your choice. You can stay in your hometown. You can give in to grief. You can let abuse or neglect or grief that you suffered stunt your growth and keep you mired in shame, regret, and self-pity. Or you can move. It doesn’t mean you forget. It doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It just means that you are choosing not to let what happened to you dictate who you become.

I have a big family. People are gonna die. My mom is 82–today. I’m gonna have to visit that place many more times. But I’m not moving back home.

It could have been my baby

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I’ve carefully avoided news coverage and discussions of the Sandy Hook tragedy. Tragedies of this magnitude are completely debilitating to me. Unfortunately, there’s really no avoiding it. Talking with a friend, she mentioned how sad she was when she looked in her closet and saw her kids gifts piled up, and her daughter’s little velvet Christmas dress. That made me think of how many little velvet Christmas dresses won’t get worn, or worse yet, will get worn in a casket. 

Nearly everyone is affected by this in one way or another, but those of us who have 6-year-olds may feel slightly more empathy and nausea. I imagine my teeny-tiny girl in her classroom with her friends and her teacher, laughing, smiling, learning…I can’t imagine what a bullet from a hunting rifle would do to her itty bitty body. I can’t imagine hearing on the news that a massacre occurred at her school. I can’t imagine trying to pick up my life and go on, and my heart breaks at the sadness, the helplessness that these families must feel.

I read the status updates, people calling for stricter gun legislation. People want to “fix” this. I listened to the message from our superintendent saying that we shouldn’t be afraid to send our kids to school on Monday because they had a plan in place to keep them safe. I’m guessing Sandy Hook had a plan too. But I doubt these events happen in the way schools practice and plan for them to occur. How do you plan for that kind of madness? “Lockdowns’ don’t stop bullets.

And what about the shooter? People are horrified at the thought of him and the heinous acts he’s committed. But really, what happened to him? I read he had some form of autism? He killed his mother. How messed up must your mind be if you kill your mother and then a bunch of babies? Maybe he’s in hell. Maybe he was all ready in hell. 

I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I have puffy eyes, a fatigued brain, and a horrible brain-numbing headache. My children and husband question why our God would let this happen. If it happened to these children in Connecticut, who’s to say it won’t happen to them? I can’t answer them. I try to offer reassurance, but right now, I need more than I have to give.

I don’t know what to pray for anymore. That some sort of good might come from so much heartbreak seems far-fetched. I pray that God heals these broken parents and fractured families. And I pray for the safety of my own children. I don’t ask why pray for understanding because I don’t want to understand why these things keep happening. I just pray that they stop happening.