This isn’t a post about life on the farm. It’s a post about life.
Just like everyone else around the world I’ve been thinking about what happened in Newtown on Friday. I know I can’t share this experience with them; it is theirs alone. I was in New York City on September 11: I looked up to see the first tower on fire, my husband escaped the city over the Brooklyn Bridge and watched the first tower fall, I talked to my mom on the phone, saying “Mom, if this is terrorism, you are in the Pentagon,” to which she replied, “I have to go, there are people pointing at the outside of the building.” For me, for a while, it hurt for the entire nation to share September 11. It seemed to take something away from the people who lost their lives on that day. As a nation we cannot share the tragedies of those who lived through them. But we can learn. We can make change.
The thoughts that have been going through my mind haven’t been worries for my children (I know this is not likely to happen in their school), or even sadness for the parents (I can’t let my mind go there). I’ve been thinking about the adults who tried to stop this crazy murderer: maybe they tried to tackle him or grab him; maybe they hid their students and confronted him themselves; maybe they kept a class full of innocent babies huddled and hidden and calm enough to live through this horrific event. And I wonder, could I do that? In that time of crisis would I be that kind of hero? How would I react? Most of us have the luxury of never knowing. I have decided to honor their bravery with the only thing I can: my own simple acts. To love and respect every human being I encounter and expect no less of the people around me. Why are we put on this earth if it is not to love one another?