The words are truly not there to say the things that need to be said. I am not here to offer thoughts and prayers. To hell with that. That is all you are hearing now, and that is all you will be hearing for the days to come. Thoughts and prayers are an easy out, they are what we say to people when we don’t really want to engage.
They are a “bless you” after a sneeze. They aren’t the tissue.
I hate this for you and your families and your town. I hate that my worst nightmare has become your reality, and most of all I hate that people you don’t know and who will never take the time to know you will use your kid as their platform.
I hate that people will tell you that your child is in a better place, that God has wrapped His arms around them and is loving them. As a Christian myself, I love the thought of that too, but in reality your child deserves to be in your arms today, and always, and forever.
But they are not.
Parents are not supposed to bury their children. Children should be afforded the luxury of growing old, and making memories and learning to love people the way we love them.
I hate that people will not know what to say to you. I hate that you will feel isolated and alone.
You aren’t alone.
Please know that I offer an ear, or coffee, or even a hug. It really isn’t much, especially from a stranger that lives hundreds of miles away, but know that I am here, others are here to listen to the stories about your little ones, to smile with you as you talk about how they learned to ride a bike. We will sit with you as you cry at the thought that they will never get to learn to drive a car.
I will not sit in a moment of silence. This is not the time to sit and be silent. This is the time to scream and yell.
And that is okay.
It is okay to sit in your car and turn the music up so loud that no one can hear you screaming at the top of your lungs, yelling so loud and for so long that you cause permanent damage to your vocal cords.
It’s okay to hit the wall and bloody your knuckles. As the saying goes, sometimes you have to bleed to know you are alive, because right now, you may even feel like you don’t want to be.
I am a parent. I have a second grader. I have cried at the thought of losing him. I have stayed up late worried too about getting a text, or a call, or seeing the breaking news. I have dreamt of that nightmare that you find yourself in. Every parent has.
I can’t image driving as fast as a I can to a school that I dropped my child off earlier, alive and healthy, not knowing when I get there if that same child is there.
These words will not find you peace. I truly wish they could. I would write a whole novel if I knew if for a minute my words would even give you a moment of solace.
I will talk to my kid about yours. I will tell him about how wonderful all your kids were and all the dreams that were destroyed by the act of one person.
I will talk to him about his feelings, about how little kids can have big feelings, and that even big people have them too.
We will talk about how important is to talk to people about feelings, and how when bad feelings grow inside people, a good person can become a bad person and do bad things.
My son needs to know that we all can be superheroes simply be listening to others talk.
Your world is shattered, and I know that and there is nothing in my world I can say or do about it.
All I can offer you is that I will do my best to raise a good person. I will do my best to help prevent this where I live. I will do my best to honor your children by making my own child aware of yours.
The world can be a horrible place, but please know that even in this time of hate, you are loved by people you don’t even know, and that we don’t offer thoughts and prayers. We offer actually words and hands.
Welcome to MarkBrownPT 