Empty Desks and No Words

“Dear Lord God!”  I’m pretty sure that was my response when Allan interrupted me Friday to tell me that at least 18 early elementary school aged children had been shot and killed.  I imagine that was the reaction of many people, whether they believe in God or not.  I say that because it does seem to me that we call on or to God when a tragedy strikes.  If I am correct about that, it is understandable, I think.  There are just some things that our human adult minds cannot grasp so we call out in the same way our children call out to us for explanation and comfort.  Except here there is no explanation and certainly no comfort. 

It made me just sick to my stomach, of course, as it did many others, I’m certain.  It was difficult to get a deep breath at times.  And I was angry.  I had no direction for that anger, but I wished for one.  I could only imagine the anger and frustration the parents of the children who did not survive were feeling or will feel at some point in time.  Losing a child is a terrible pain.  I don’t even understand why they have to get seriously ill, much less die, especially in any abusive or tragic way.  But to have that little life destroyed by another; how does a parent not want to lash out? 

His/her child was in school, maybe having reading class.  Maybe s/he was in some type of art class and was happily coloring.  Maybe s/he was in gym class, running and giggling.  Or maybe the teacher was talking about seasons of the year and that winter was “officially” coming in a few days, no matter what the weather was that day.  It is very likely that most of the children’s families celebrate Christmas and they were getting excited, painfully waiting for the day to come.   Probably enough of them still believed in Santa Claus.  Little friends had been telling each other what was wanted for Christmas.  It is my personal hope that if there were any in the class whose family did not celebrate Christmas that the children had been encouraged, both at home and at school, to be sensitive and considerate of those whose lives were different in any way.   I hope they were already learning to be inclusive.  No doubt, or course, at least one or two were having trouble staying focused and on task, for whatever reason.  Their teacher had their school day planned.  It did not include trying to save their lives. 

Shortly after 5 AM Saturday morning I wanted to know if there were any updates on this unfathomable and immeasurable loss of life.  I read about the brother and the original report, which incorrectly said it was he who had done the killing.  I read about Mayor Bloomberg saying that now is the time to talk about gun control.  I read about the vigils. 

I learned about the principal who they believe lunged at the gunman and began to yell a warning.  She lost her life.  I learned about other staff who attempted to stop him, resulting in other lives lost.  I learned about the teacher who hid her students to prevent them from being found.  They survived; she did not.  I learned about the little boy who was pulled to safety from the hallway by another teacher.  I learned about the teacher who tried to distract and occupy the students by having them color while keeping them in a confined space. 

“Dear Lord God!”  Even if this were my reaction at first learning this horrible news, I repeat it now.  I simply don’t know what else to say.  It is too much for my heart to hold; it renders me unable to think of appropriate words.  It stuns me.  It saddens me.  It sickens me.  It angers me. 

Allan created the following and offered it to me for whatever I was writing.  It is, to my way of thinking, a perfect and beautiful memorial to 20 six and seven year olds who went off to school on a Friday morning, hopefully as completely carefree as we want them to be at that age.  There are simply no words that better capture what has transpired and what families must now try to endure.