Through different eyes

We were at Aidan's school this afternoon, looking for his glasses. (He told us yesterday that he had not seen them - no pun intended - since Friday. Although he told us he "thoroughly" searched for the glasses today, we took him back right after school let out and did our own search. The glasses were found by James in the art smock bin in the classroom. So much for being thorough, son.) As soon as we walked into his classroom, I immediately looked around and wondered where he might hide from a gunman. And when I realized what I was doing, it was all I could do not to cry right then and there.

What becomes of the broken hearted?

I have sat down to write about last Friday's shootings in Newtown, CT, several times and only get a few words in before realizing that I simply don't know what to say...and anything I say will have already been said by someone else in a far better manner. I am horrified, I am angry, I am heartsick, I am truly at a loss for words.

I do not know how those parents will endure their loss. I hope that the grieving parents have dear people in their lives who will hold their hands, cry with them, listen to them, ask them how they are doing and sincerely mean it; that they will ask those parents about their deceased children by name and listen to their stories and their memories, and look at the photos of their beautiful children who will forever be six or seven.