Crying For Newtown

I've been crying a lot these past few days.

Crying for those innocent children who lost their lives and for the devastated families they leave behind.

Crying because all they did was go to school that day. Something they should have been able to do without being put in danger.

Crying because I cannot fathom the kind of person who wakes up and decides to enter a school and open fire on innocent children.

Crying because unlike many who will say, "I can't even imagine what their parents are going through," I do know what it feels like to lose a child.

Crying because I feel like my wound has been ripped back open. That pain, the kind of pain that paralyzes you, is back again. Not that the wound was fully healed, but it had a pretty good scab over it. But not anymore.

I feel raw and vulnerable in a way I haven't felt for quite some time. I have spent the weekend hugging my baby girl and crying. Reminding myself just how lucky I am to have her.

Knowing just how lucky I am to have her.
Knowing just how empty it feels when a child is there and then is not.
Knowing just how much it hurts to long for a child, to miss a child, to mourn a child.

My heart breaks for the families in Newtown, CT. A place I've never been filled with people I've never met. And yet I cry for them.

Real tears, real emotions, real sorrow. Their story has moved me in a way that no other news story ever has. Maybe because it hits closer to home than I would like it to.

Or maybe because it's just that terrible.