A grandparent's view. . .

At the "grandparent" stage in life, I think most of us find we have been kneaded into a lovely elasticity, a softness - if you will - about the fabric of our lives.  So it came as no surprise to me this past Friday, when realizing the scope of Sandy Hook's horror, that I could NOT immediately pick up the phone and call my own daughter, five hours away, who is raising a five-year-old, experiencing her first year of public school. 

Our S. - going to school, first day -

 

I needed time to feel the sadness and gather my wits before I could hear my daughter's voice.  My plans were for naught, for as soon as I heard her strong voice answer my call, I broke down.  The life-long, solid, ram-rod-dependable bastion of strength fell into a puddle.  I could barely choke out words while my daughter was in complete control.  She admitted to falling apart earlier, but she was on her way out the door to pick up her daughter, my granddaughter, from school - it was time to get it together. 

Herein lies the "sainthood" all parents share.  The baton has been rightly passed down - the silent baton of staying upright and functioning in crisis so that your precious child is not torn apart with fear and insecurity.  Holding yourself in check until they are safely asleep in their beds - a familiar script, is it not?

Rising to the occasion and seeing pain through is unavoidable in life.  What a lonely slog it can be - the road to healing is a long, arduous journey, never quite over.  I'm afraid, for unknown reasons, we don't always recognize that or honor it.  Maybe because of our own discomfort regarding grief, we rush to get it over with - put it behind us. That practice is so not fair to our tender hearts or the hearts of others.  Wallow in it. . .feel it to the bone, the very marrow. . .name it, feel it, share it, give in to it.  Reaching the bottom is the only way to begin anew. 

The world will come rumbling and tumbling towards you as you age - no one is off the hook.  Keeping a five-year-old from the harshest of life's offerings is a necessary heroic task.  Sadly, for the smallest of children left behind in Newtown, their new vibe from the universe is one of uncertainty. . .after all the difficult work of so many steadily providing a rock-hard foundation for them framed in love, a foundation to be depended upon.  May they all be lifted once again to find themselves standing on solid ground.

My now older, softened heart - no longer being directly called upon to "hold it all in" showed powerfully and immediately that time has marched on.  Things change.  My own personal grieving has been held under lock and key for years.  I urge you all to not do what I have done. . .instead find a way to feel it, whether in a shower alone, a dark night with a loved one, a quiet conversation shared.  Let the tears flow in honor of those tiny twenty children and then begin to build upon the good in life, striving all the while to make it better.