It finally came close enough to home last night that this morning I started the dialogue with my children. And yet I feel guilty that I waited this long, that I waited until it was personal to us. It’s been personal to other people, it’s been just as important, just as upsetting, just as scary, but I kept my family in a secluded little bubble as long as I could.
This morning I struggled to find the words. I don’t have the vocabulary to accurately reflect what’s going on.
Our country is broken. Our people are hurting and they are responding to hate with hate. We do not know how to control our anger. We demand respect without giving it. Justice is not being applying equally. We demand retribution, making others hurt in a fruitless attempt to heal our own pain. We are losing. And last night your friends’ dad was called in from watching a ball game with his kids to don his SWAT gear and enter what he described as a war zone. He survived but some of his fellow officers did not.
Our plans after swimming lessons were to go downtown, near-ish the horrible events, to a museum. The area surrounding the museum has been cleared as of early this morning but I laid it all out to the boys and let them decide whether we would go or not.
We decided that we will not live in fear (a personal decision I have made years ago and continue to make every time something scary happens,) and that art has healing properties, but that it was a bit too soon. (And I think my boys are tired. Also, they thought we were going to the science museum and not the art museum, which is closer to the events and has a delayed opening today, but more interactive exhibits.)
We have committed ourselves to seek out and to share beauty and love. We are going to send fun mail and do kind things. Love is the only answer.