I was in my son's class yesterday for a Holiday party. As I
looked around at all of the little faces, I glanced up at the door and imagined
a man walking in, killing at random. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the
door...another parent came over and asked if I was ok and broke me out of my
trance.
I then walked over and hug my son fiercely, which elicited a 'Daaaaaad...'.
People often say "I can't imagine...". Sadly, I can. I am cursed with the gift of a vibrant imagination and I can imagine the horror, the fear and the last moments of those scared, helpless children. I can see my son's face running and screaming. I can see my daughter not understanding the noise, covering her ears and walking towards the gunman, reaching out to the gun to stop the offending sounds.
I can't imagine living without my children, knowing their last moments. I can't imagine the futility of my anger and grief. I can't imagine knowing that there was nothing I could do, say, or change that would reverse time and bring my child back to me.
My imagination isn't strong enough for that.
I then walked over and hug my son fiercely, which elicited a 'Daaaaaad...'.
People often say "I can't imagine...". Sadly, I can. I am cursed with the gift of a vibrant imagination and I can imagine the horror, the fear and the last moments of those scared, helpless children. I can see my son's face running and screaming. I can see my daughter not understanding the noise, covering her ears and walking towards the gunman, reaching out to the gun to stop the offending sounds.
I can't imagine living without my children, knowing their last moments. I can't imagine the futility of my anger and grief. I can't imagine knowing that there was nothing I could do, say, or change that would reverse time and bring my child back to me.
My imagination isn't strong enough for that.
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