I woke my husband early this morning,
by wanting to hold his hand.
He asked me what was wrong.
To which I replied, Everything.
In his still sleepy voice
he reassured me that it would all would be okay.
He asked me not to worry,
but I am a champion worrier.
If Worrying were an Olympic sport—
I would take home all the gold.
The violence, the families,
the children and the what ifs are
never far from my thoughts.
I can’t seem to concentrate.
Nothing is getting done that needs to be accomplished.
Deadlines whiz by with the
speed of a racecar driver or
a thrilling amusement park ride.
My brain is all fuzzy,
as if every part of me were a bruise,
or a stubbed toe.
As if I were constantly getting jabbed with dull pins.
I touch the part of me
that is a tooth in need of a filling,
surprised that it still hurts.
And then I remember why I am sad;
why so many of us feel bereft,
I want to do something.
To be helpful.
To wave the wand and make the hurt disappear.
I wish I had a tragedy-proof vest.
But if I wore it all the time
would any of the other feelings get through to me?
I do feel like lighting candles.
The flame a symbol,
somehow calming and strong at the same time.
I scurry to find where I have hidden them–
to be lit in case of emergency
This one was given as a gift,
over 15 years ago when we lived in New York.
It’s been schlepped from house to house,
move to move, never touched.
Now finally finding its purpose.
This is the time of year
for candles and lights.
These are the days
that should be “merry and bright”
Instead I find “comfort and joy”
more befitting our mood.
The comfort flows forth,
in little gestures, smiles and hugs.
Words flow like a river, unceasing and constant.
I know that someday there will be joy.
Right now it is buried deep under the mud
as the river surges over.
The water is strong and steady
doing what it must.
Someday someone will unearth it,
— a rediscovered treasure,
shiny and smooth.
And what a wonder that will be.