So Sorry.

I keep looking at the Christmas presents under my tree and I keep wondering what they will do with theirs, those parents’ whose children died yesterday. I think about their houses all trussed up and decorated into a wintry fairyland. I keep thinking about the reminder it must be. Presents wrapped, stockings stuffed and gifts hidden in closets waiting for Santa to show. I can’t help but feel that I would just throw everything out. You see I live on top of this gloriously annoying hill that sits at about a 45-degree angle. It’s difficult to navigate some days but on this day I feel that I would be thankful for that. I would simply throw the tree down the front steps and watch it crunch and tumble it’s way to the street. The nativity, the angels, the little ceramic houses built into a white fairy tale Christmas that we never see in this warm weather. Then the presents would go. One by one. What else would I do with them? I couldn’t return them. I would feel as though I was betraying my sweet little one, getting money back for the gifts I so carefully planned out. The gifts they have squealed and begged for since July. MAYBE, just MAYBE I could give them away but I’m not sure I could pull myself together enough to take them anywhere. To pack them into my car, to drive somewhere or even to think about other sweet little faces that I don’t know opening presents that were for my little boy. And that Elf, that stupid elf that I moved around my house. Carefully planning what mischief he would be in tonight. I might cut him to pieces. I might burn him in a woodpile. But I know I would hate him.

Then I think some more and I wonder if I would even be out of bed yet. It is possible that I would simply curse anyone who peaked their head into my bedroom door. I would lay in bed demanding that the world stop spinning. That the world stops moving on. I would swing between a white hot anger that burned into my throat from the depth of my belly to simple cold, gracefully numbing, empty despair. I would squeeze my eyes shut so tightly dots would appear when I opened them. I would beg my tears exhaust me so I can sleep back into blissfully peaceful nothing sleep.

Perhaps my husband, my mother, my sister would pull from bed. Maybe they could steer me through today. The details that I have always cursed because I have always hated details. But these details I would curse and hate even more. These details would have everything to do with putting that little body that I grew inside of me, that I kissed, nursed, healed, groomed, cleaned, and tried to squeeze every last ounce of warm dirty child smell from, away from me forever. I couldn’t say bury. I don’t know that I could make any of those details. Flowers, music, dates, times, newspaper announcements, handouts, pastors, prayers, caskets, locations, churches, outfits. It simply makes my stomach turn. It makes me want to throw up. It makes me want to crawl back into bed. No. Just no.

A hundred scenes run through my head. A hundred possible reactions. A million ways to get through it, or not. All I am certain of sitting in my living room a thousand miles away from this shooting is there is little to nothing I can do for these families. I want to hug them. I want to make them hot tea and tell them it is okay to stay in bed today. And tomorrow. It’s okay if you want to throw everything away. No you aren’t crazy for feeling that way. Be angry, be ragefully so. Let the heat in your neck reach up and tingle your ears, let it clench your fist, let it take over your voice and just scream until you can’t anymore. Tell God you can’t believe Him. Can’t believe that he would betray you in such a way. That’s okay too. Even he understands. He understands much better than I do or I can. He gave you the ability to feel all of those things so you can react. So you can get through. I don’t know what I would do even if I sit and imagine for hours.

I don’t know half of how I would feel or half of what I would do. I do know that I am so incredibly sorry. That my heart twists in my chest, my eyes burn, my mind screams and I hate this world when I think about those families. I wish I could pack away their Christmas trees. Pull down their lights. Put their houses back to right, back to normal. I wish I could cook and clean for them. I wish I could make the world stop turning. That new televisions shows wouldn’t air, new news stories wouldn’t surface because everything stopped for them. It hasn’t. It won’t. But I wish for just a day or two it would. That people would forget about their arguments about gun control, mental health, broken systems, broken people, and a broken world because today it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t stop what has already happened. Today I would just want to be left alone. I would want the world to forget about me because I want to forget about it. I just want to feel, to get lost, to disappear, to die, to waste away. To just sleep because that’s the only place I can pretend that yesterday didn’t happen.

I’m sorry that I can’t help. That I can’t make it better. I’m just so so sorry.

Run

Was it enough? She had given everything. The alley was empty, save the one girl slouched against the cold stone wall. Her breathe came in quick pants as she knotted her fingers together. Her brow was knitted tight as the day she was born. Nadia often found her days ending like this. The sore ache creeping up into her stomach clenching it tight beneath her ribs, the breath would catch and her heart would race then she would ask the same question; was it enough? She found her life had become a rapid succession of disappointments and failures. She was bright enough to be considered witty, attractive enough to be considered pretty and healthy enough to appear to be worth the fight, but still she wondered. Her breaths became deeper, the thump of her heart eased its rabbit like rhythm but she still worried with the ring on her left hand. Would he still chase her?


She pushed up and slapped a flat palm against the stone wall. Another cool august evening, another fit of fear, another fight. He wouldn’t find her this time, she was sure of it. She ran farther than before, pushed harder than before. Her mind ran through the argument, tugging at the corner of each cruel word. Liar. Thief. Disappointment. Pulling it apart like an old brown sweater. Unraveling the meaning she intended behind each jab. Her stomach began to churn again, her muscles spasmed; she was on her knees before she could catch herself. Tears should be next she thought, but none came. Her eyes remained dry, too dry. She pushed her fist against them as hard as she could, letting the pressure push against her brain but no tears came. She clenched her teeth, throat tight, chest expanding and her skin became hot to the touch as she pushed herself off the dirty ground.

Why wasn’t he here? Why hadn’t he come? He swore he loved her. Said he would never leave, but he lied like all the others. Words slammed around inside her head, words sweet and dripping with honey. She tore each one apart; they weren’t worth the memory or the involuntary flutter in her gut. Invisible scenes rolled before her eyes, a broken pot, a tender kiss, a laugh, a lie, his smile, warm eyes, and kind face. With each image her body tightened, jaw clenched, nails biting into her palms as the anger pushed and flowed down to her toes. She succeeded. For hours she stood in the alley. Hours, but she was still alone. She closed her eyes and flexed her jaw. It was over. He swore he was different, she proved him wrong. Shaking her shoulders loose she smiled, it made her sick.

Fine, no smiling she thought. She was proud of herself; at least she thought she was. This is what she intended right, for him to leave her alone? To prove they were all the same fickle, selfish, half-hearted lovers. Why would a King be any different, he was after all just a man? In fact she convinced herself that he would be worse. As King he could have any and all he wanted. She was proud of herself. She proved a King a liar.

Then why did her stomach still churn? If this is what she wanted, why did it feel as though her heart was trying to dig its way out through her back? There was no fight left. She was alone again. She looked at her feet, where the sun slanted across the building throwing her into shadow. She counted in her head 1… 2… 3… and pushed one foot forward into the light. Another command and her foot moved again. One step at a time she forced herself into the street, back into the steady stream of people. She let her mind go numb, let the people push, bump and shove her forward, each step pushing her farther from him.

She closed her eyes and moved with the crowd no longer concerned with her direction or her purpose. A numbness sank through her bones, she felt heavy and pushed against the earth. Then a tingle moved through her wrist. She felt the warmth trace her palm and fingers lace through hers. Her heart raced, eyes flipping open like a switch. Her mind stuttered like a cold diesel engine, refusing to catch on a word, an image, a motion. All she could do was stare at the hand laced with hers. She felt her nose flare, her mouth water and her eyesight blurr. Soft fingers found her chin and moved her head for her forcing her to face soft brown eyes. Her mind emptied, her heart stopped. There was no sound, no feeling, no thought and no motion until he tilted his head and smiled. He leaned forward slowly, brushing the hair away from her ear with his nose. His voice was like warm honey “I found you. I told you, I always would, and I always will.” Nadia’s fingers clenched around his hand as she collapsed against his chest, he found her. Again. A single tear, warm and blue slipped from the corner of her eye, burying itself in his shirt. She wasn't alone after all.

To be a Princess

Imagine yourself in a time that has long since passed us. A time when your feet took you everywhere you needed to go, unless you were fortunate enough to own a horse. It’s a time we like to read about, dream about, watch movies about. A time we generally romanticize filled with valiant men and beautiful princesses. This is the world that occupied my dreams last night.

My dream began in the middle of a journey, as dreams tend to do. I was sitting on the back of a horse searching for something precious. I don’t know what this thing is or where I would find it, I only knew that it was important and must be found. The details become fuzzy because my wakeful mind is less inclined to remember the details of my dreams. I know I was not alone but I can tell you nothing of my companions. We found the object that we searched for and quickly attained it. In my dream this object seemed odd and anything but precious. It was a white grey disk about the size of my palm. It reminded me of an oversized coin though it was smooth and void of markings. Nothing about it seemed precious, important or worth any risk of danger but it hummed with significance. With every good story the battle was far from over; our journey was only half over. The new battle was to return to safety, return the object to it’s rightful place; this is where my dream begins to weigh heavily on my conscious.

Whomever we plundered the item from chased us back to a vast city. Our destination lay in the courtyard of the city. We raced our way through tight city streets; pushing through tight crowds and finally surrendering our horses to the chaos, ran on foot. I broke through the crowd and there stood the monument. It was a landing made of white cobblestone and a monolith like a chimney rose from the opposite side of the circle, a shallow clear pool of water surrounded the whole structure. When we arrived the city center was crowded but our pursuers where close behind. Here my dream becomes clear and muddy all at once. I remember stumbling towards the structure, losing my footing and tumbling to the ground watching the disk flip in the air landing softly into the clear water. Everything seems to go silent, no one moved, no one spoke and the water began to glow. Slowly a crown fit for a princess began to lift out of the water. It appeared to be made of clear cool ice, it had no color and the wavy appearance clear water takes on as it freezes. The crown was accompanied by what appeared to be the white, icy outline of a flower, an origami anomaly. As the crown settled itself down in the center of the cobblestone, tears filled my eyes and my heart swelled. Again I knew something someone never told me, this crown was for me and it was from my King. I lurched forward my view blurry and my steps uncertain as I waded through the water and knelt before the crown. It was too small for my head and certainly would never fit properly but this was not a thought in my dream only a conscious realization as I woke. Without hesitation I lifted the small princess crown and marveled at its simplicity, its clear solid touch. As tears fell down my face I began to sing to my King, the words I don’t remember, but I sang of love that ran deep and lasted forever as I placed the crown on my own head. It slowly stretched and grew to fit comfortably and perfectly on my head. There were whispers and stirring in the crowd but I was only aware of two people.

The first was a man standing outside the pool of water; he is standing in front of me and to my right. Delight dances across his bearded face. I have seen him before in my dreams and always the details of his face are obscured in my wakefulness. He is always calm and still. Love seems to dance about in his presence and there is always joy when he is around. I know it is for him that I cry and sing. I know that the crown is a gift from him. Then my mother is standing behind me and to my left and though the crowd is full of commotion I hear her voice clearly as the crown settles upon my head. Though she stands far away her voice sounds like a whisper in my ear “You know something of being a princess don’t you Katie.”