The Hardest Words

Tears are streaming down my face.  I’ve worked all day; I’m tired and forlorn.  My daughter and husband are vacationing at a camp in Ocala, my boys are amusing themselves with Mindcraft or WOW or something similar (all my kids are teenagers).  I’m on Facebook and catching up on news of how my Orlando family, friends, and community are doing.  I’m feeling unwell, off-kilter, numb, emotional (forgive me, I am menopausal), overwhelmed. I live here.  I am a mile and half away and I grew up a half-mile away from “the place.”  My school where I teach, the high school I graduated from, the schools I attended and my children attend or graduated from are just around the corner from Pulse.  I live here.  My husband works a half-block from Pulse.  This is my neighborhood.   I just can’t fathom.  All I can do is love harder, take action against the hate, and forgive the thoughtless posts on Facebook about people’s guns being taken from them.  This.  This is so much bigger.  I keep busy.  I lift weights after school.  Heavy weights make my heavy heart feel better and bigger and there is more space to take in the unfathomable.  I have faith.  Be blessed in all you do.  Be strong in your convictions and your forgiveness.  Speak out for the wrongs and right them where you may.  Be fierce in your love and gentle in your words.  Love is all.

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