A Heavy Heart

This morning I woke Q up the same way I do every morning (well, every morning that he doesn't wake me up with a "Mom-my, I'm hungry) with a "Wakey, wakey eggs and bac-y!!!"

 

Okay, so it starts that way.  Then it's, "C'mon!! Rise and shine!!" 

 

Then it's "Q.  Now.  Up."

 

Today, I reminded him that he had a super exciting day - a field trip to The Nutcracker and he'd get to ride on a school bus.  That got him up.  He ran downstairs to open his advent calendar. 

 

Then he chattered away the whole way to the babysitter...

 

"Mommy, how many sleeps til Christmas?"

 

"I think Santa starts delivering presents at 1 am.  Do you think so?"

 

"I love spending Christmas Eve with Daddy because we go skating and stay up really late - but not too late, because Santa comes.  We watch where Santa is on the Santa Tracker and we play Monopoly."

 

I dropped him off at the babysitters.  He gave me a big hug.  I said "I love you!" and kissed the top of his head.  He said, "I do too!!"

 

It was just another day.  Nothing out of the ordinary.  Certainly not super special. 

 

Today, parents in Newtown, CT took their children to the babysitters, to school just like any ordinary day.  Their children excited for a visit from Santa, maybe a field trip on a school bus.  Kisses on foreheads, whispers of "I love you!" in little ears.

 

It is horrific and tragic that some of these children did not go home today.  I cannot even begin to imagine the devastation these parents must be going through; their lives never the same.  A huge hole in their hearts, their child gone too soon.

 

Today there are three specific children I think of that did not go to school because their little bodies are battling tumours and the ill effects of chemo and radiation.  Modern science has nothing left to offer.   "I love yous" are precious and plenty and kisses are never ending.  Prayers are constant.  Every time I think of them, I lose my breath, because I cannot fathom anything worse than watching your child, no older than 5 or 7, die before you, helpless to do anything but pray for a miracle.

 

My heart breaks every time I think of these children and these families.

 

Every morning for me is an *extra* ordinary morning because I have been blessed with a healthy little boy, who right this very minute is safe and sound.  He's happy.  He's not scared or worried.  I can say with confidence that I know he will wake up tomorrow, healthy, happy and safe.

 

And I am so grateful.

 

I hope and pray that I never take for granted the ordinary mornings.  The cuddles.  The kisses.  The talks.  The laughs.  The games.  The school plays.  The spelling tests.  I pray that I never take for granted the awesome responsibility that has been bestowed upon me - raising up my beautiful boy.  It makes things like *things* and money so completely irrelevant in comparison.  I have a gift that has been horrifically stolen from far too many, far too soon.  With every grateful prayer I say for my son, I will pray for peace for those who have gone, for those who long for little fingers and tiny kisses.

 

I am overwhelmed with sadness tonight for those robbed of their little blessings, taken to heaven far too soon.  Tonight when you tuck your babies in and kiss them goodnight, say a little prayer for those mourning the loss of their children.