Tasting Tragedy

This week it all seems to have come to a head for me- stress from work, stress from building a house, stress from finding a new nanny (yes, that's right, we have to find a new nanny! More on that later), stress from bills, stress from how the sequestration will affect our home budget (because, yes, it indeed does! I'm federally funded at work!), stress from schedules, stress from planning (birthday parties, moves, dog sitters etc.), stress from life.

Ugh. Can you tell I'm so exhausted?

But, what seems to make the most impact on me, as of late, are the boys.

Its when I am maximally stressed that I noticed with incredible sensitivity how each is so unique and precious. How when I blink I miss some of it. This time though, the raw edges of heartache are like sandpaper on silk, pulling threads attached to the precious moments of my boys lives. I think often of the perfect moments in the morning when Collin says "warm me up momma! and snuggles in bed with me or Owens immense hugs and smiles of pure unadulterated joy and I want to be with them more. I want to remember to hold on to those moments, because those special gifts will be what I need when I'm at the end of my mommy rope- frustrated, irritated and quick to lose my temper. Normally, when I'm sucked into the moments that I force me to re-evaluate, to consider if I'm losing it, I wind up just this side of the tipping point. Taking more time to savor more time with the boys, to hold on to those moments and I slide back into our family harmony.

But this time the tipping point has occurred in the middle of so many awful, heartbreaking crimes and tragedies against innocent tiny children. Its thrown me over the edge, and I find myself on the other side of it all, a little bit at a loss.

In the past three weeks I've read heart wrenching stories of mothers and fathers losing their children. From the amazing and talented Emily Rapp (who went to high-school with a close colleagues of mine) and the traumatic story of watching her beautiful son, Ronan, lose a battle to Tay-Sachs disease at the age of three. You can read here story here. Or better yet, read her book: The Still Point of the Turning World.

To a mom in Collin's preschool, due with a much anticipated baby boy in mid March, sensed something was wrong just days before his due date and went in to find her most feared nightmare had come true, giving birth to a full term stillborn baby boy, with no apparent medical reason to explain such heartbreak.

To the senseless Chicago shooting just days ago in which a father who was changing his infant daughter's, Johnalyn Watkins, diaper on the front seat of his car looked on as someone seeking him out brutally shot and killed his beautiful baby girl. You can learn about this tremendous loss here.

Or worse yet, today, the horrific shooting of a 13 month old baby boy while enjoying a walk in a stroller with his mom, when two teenager approached her and shot the baby boy, all the while the mom tried desperately to cover and protect her son, Antonio. But even her shield could not save this innocent baby boy. You can read about this tragedy here.

These stories together, combined with the stress of our lives currently, gave me pause. For the first time in raising my boys I experienced a moment of having more fear in the outside world than hope. In my mind's eye, this is a tragedy. It illustrates for me that I've changed so much as a mom, but also that these tragedies are so guttural, so intimate, that they feel like the are my very own and they make me wonder whats in the future for my boys at a societal level.

I have indeed changed in becoming a mom. I don't think you can understand the  instant anxiety, monumental crush of your heart, the physical ache burried deep in your chest when you hear of tragedy befalling a young child, unless you are a parent. Before having kids it was awful to watch movies where children were hurt, or hear new stories of trauma or crime involving children. But it was like a superficial wound. The hurt was a mix of anger, shock and sorrow at a the shallowest of levels. I could watch such stories and not think twice about them minutes later. 
Its not like that anymore.
Now, I really can't watch movies with children who get hurt or killed, or even terminally sick. It puts a pit in my stomach the moment I start watching and I automatically take on the pain of that parent and child. I can't get through them. I have to change the channel or stop the movie. When I read blogs of children who have suffered, I weep. I cry like they are my very own children. As though I share that raw and brutal pain in the moments of reading those stories. And when I see instances of hatred in our community and world, and find in some horrific moment that a child has experienced some senseless tragedy, I am hurt. I am angry. I feel so broken.

I think briefly of a moment in this world without my boys and my heart aches with unbelievable hurt. Just thinking about losing them puts me in a place of inconsolable grief. I really can't imagine the pain these parent's go through, because as much as it seems so visceral for me- I know it doesn't compare, even for a moment to the horror they wake up to each day without their child.

Its this kind of response to a child that puts hope in my heart for our world. That if we all hurt so fundamentally and know the need to protect our children, that we might inspire pure hope for change, encourage more love and support and less lack of responsibility. There are so many women and men around this world that share these types of reactions, yet, even with this hope in my heart, it feels today, at this tipping point, as though this world is making a shift toward each person for themselves. Which is so disheartening, because without the help of others to hold our children up, to bear the weight of a friend's stillbirth alongside her, to console a grieving father and he tries to move forward in a life without his daughter in his arms, to reconcile the tragedy of an incurable disease striking such a vibrant young baby, we are all alone in this world and each child that grows older will be left to his or her own devices to make decisions that may impact the world.

And so I wonder. Am I teaching them to be kind? Do they know to be brave and do what is right instead of what is popular? Do they know to stand up for what they believe in? Do they know to help others? Do they know to carry happiness and hope in their heart instead accusations, hatred and self-rightousness?

I know that they are little and I can't answer those questions now. But in the moments that miss them, that I miss being with them because I am at work, or I am half attending because I am so stressed, I like to think of the times I've been able to capture glimpses of these skills. So, today, as I reached this tipping point, I arrived at an uncomfortable spot of wondering if teaching them these skills is enough- do I have to also fear for them in every moment of their lives? Do I have to wonder if every car that drives by might contain someone malicious, do I have to assume every stranger is of the worst intentions?

I hope not. Because that is no way to live life. There's not a whole lot of "living" that goes on when you are looking over every shoulder.

And so, I hope this moment, is just a moment and nothing more.
I hope that as a society, a community, a state, we find new ways to help parents raise thoughtful, responsible children. I hope we find ways to reach out to parents in time of loss and carry their grief for them. I hope we remember that we cannot judge anyone until we have walked a day in their shoes.
I hope my boys know in their hearts that their role in this world is not solely about themselves- that they are part of something much bigger and they need to take responsibility of their part in helping others.

I have lots of hopes, and if my boys, in their wise old ages are the only ones to ever read this post, I hope they can look back and say that they see the good in the world. That they know no matter how much stress and turmoil we feel in the day to day, that there is a much bigger picture that needs our attention.

These tastes of tragedy are visceral and evocative.
I do not like being on this side of the tipping point.
I hope collectively, the world shows stories that can tip me back to the other side.
I'm ready.