Why I Cried At Work

I'm crying at my desk.

I was finishing up my lunch this afternoon while perusing the New York Times website when I came across this story.  It is the story of a little eight year old boy who was walking home from school by himself for the first time and was abducted.  This morning, this little boys dismembered remains were found in the "suspect's" refrigerator and a dumpster nearby.  I could feel a lump in my throat developing as I looked from the small image of the young boy to the framed image of my two boys smiling beside my computer screen.  It is so hard to digest such atrocity.  I'm crying because I am envisioning his parent's pain.  I am crying because I fear a world where our innocent children can become prey.

I tried to find some solace in the Washington Post website - shut my eyes and ears as if I could change the channel on the world - and I found this story.  The story of an Iowa mom who tried to kill both of her sons in 2009, murdering one and seriously injuring the other.  When the police found her surviving son, he told them simply, "She cut me." When they asked who, he responded, "My mom."

I'm nauseous and I want to go home.

My hubby and I argue all the time about protecting our sons.  He holds on to Isaiah's hand tight when we are in crowds, never lets Isaiah play at the park farther than arms reach and is generally mistrusting of anyone that may be around our children.  I, on the other hand, am protective but I am more likely to let Isaiah run and play at a park while I sit on a bench close by.  I'm not cool enough to read or anything but I do fight the urge to follow him around.   I'll let go of his hand when we go on walks and let him do his three year old distracted, slow, "I want to touch everything I see" walk  while I causally watch from a distance.  I believe in letting him learn, experience and come into his own.  I am wary about stifling him because I firmly believe he will be who he is meant to be.  I am starting to question how this naive image of the world as their oyster will keep my children safe. 

Parenting is tough.

Not only are we responsible to feeding, clothing and rearing these little lives but we are also responsible for protecting them - not just with doctor's appointments, vaccines and other drugs but from real life monsters.   All of these tasks, coupled with that intense, unconditional love can make parenting down right frightening at times. 

Isaiah and I love playing this game called blanket house.  He started it with Grandma and now we play it all the time.  We make a little tent out of a blanket with a flashlight, shine it around, talk about things and giggle - pretty simple game.  Wessie hates it and usually crawls out.  I'm having one of those irrational mommy moments where I am wishing I could keep my kids in my little nest forever - insulate them from all the hurt, the pain, the downright unfairness that this world can sometimes produce.  Build a real life blanket house... or something stronger.  Sometimes I close my eyes and try to remember who I was before my brother died.  Before life seemed so temporary and fragile.   Before I knew that there would come a time when I would have to say goodbye to the people I love.
Before I lived it.
I love that my children don't know that pain.  That Wesley wakes up with his eyes bright and smiles wide.  That Isaiah thinks the sun falls asleep at night because its been dancing all day.  I am having a crazy mommy moment because I am wishing I could somehow hide them from the pain... the inevitable pain that nothing can make better.

I am crying right now for Seth and Sean... and Leiby.

I have no real resolution here.

I'm still crying at my desk.