grief

The type of grief resting on our country right now is the kind that sits heavy. Like a cement blanket, immovable on your chest, sometimes making it difficult to breathe. Even being so far removed, the pain is tangible.

It's one of those things that we'll all get through even though we'll never really understand. But it's one of those things that will keep me awake at night from time to time for a long time, awake enough that I'll wander into each of my babies' rooms and stare at them for a while, maybe lay beside them and just breathe their smell in, Belle like her curly hair and Lou like baby lotion. Because she's still little enough to be slathered in it. And it's one of those things that will cause me no end of worry, no end of what ifs.

There aren't really words. But I want Connecticut to know that my heart aches for you. And my prayers are with you.

And I want my babies to know that I'm sorry for the world that lays ahead of them. But I want them to know and always remember that my heart is with them always and that inasmuch as I can, I will protect them and defend them and pray for them with every ounce that I am.