Poor M got into a car accident on Sunday, heading home from hockey practice.
He’s fine. L, who was in the back seat lost in hockey dreams, is fine. Everyone in the other car is fine. M’s car is badly altered, but we have insurance. It, too, will be fine.
Last Friday the world ended for several families in Connecticut. They will not be fine, not really, ever again. Battles over guns and mental health are being waged, and in case you are wondering where I stand: more gun control, more free and easily accessed mental health services. More people smiling and asking if you are having a good day with a real interest in the answer.
But lots of people are expressing that kind of opinion far more eloquently elsewhere in the world. Me, I’m just sitting at my kitchen table supremely grateful to feel annoyed at my boys.
I noticed a mention of a school shooting in my facebook newsfeed on Friday while I was at work. I didn’t click over to any articles. I felt…weary. Another one? Really? I felt no compulsion to learn more beyond school, shooting. It wasn’t until I was on my way to pick up three beautiful boys from elementary school that I learned via public radio that it was little, little kids who were dead. Kids the same age as my kids.
My wonderful, whole boys tumbled into the car and we listened to the president cry and I told them what I knew, which was very little. My boys called the shooter a stupid idiot and I agreed but I also pointed out the nuances of mental illness. “Mom,” says my oldest and wisest. “Even if he was sick and had no control. He’s still an idiot.” And I could only nod.
Mothers the world over are blowing extra raspberries on their babies’ fat legs. Dads are saying yes to the age old question, “One more story?” We are hunkered down, wondering where the next bout of lightening will strike. I’m hoping M’s minor car mishap is as tragic as it gets for us this winter. Crumpled plastic and busted lights – this we can carry. Nothing else. Please, nothing else.