Somebody Lost Their Child Today
I’m sure there are going to be a lot of people writing and sharing their thoughts on the Boston Marathon bombing yesterday. How could we not all be thinking about it? The scenes shown on the news and on the internet are pretty graphic, but even so I suspect we are only seeing the tip of the gory iceberg.
I don’t have any conspiracy theories or maniacal thoughts about what I would do to the people responsible, once found. The police and FBI will do their jobs and find out what happened, I’m sure.
I think we get desensitized to events like these when we see the daily bombings in the middle east. The violence an ocean away makes it feel like it doesn’t really happen. There is no connection to the people on the screen. And to be honest, I’ve chosen to just change the channel, because I hate to watch things that I don’t have the power to impact. But when you see it here, on the very continent we live on, it makes it real. This happened to my American brothers and sisters, and it feels like it happened to me.
So I started thinking about loss. True loss. The kind that you can never get back, the kind that can’t be undone. Death. Innocence. Sight, maybe. Hearing, maybe. Security.
Yesterday, we had a snowstorm here. A pretty mild one, but annoying in the middle of April. And while we were all busy bitching about the weather, somebody lost their child. Somebody lost their spouse, parent, sibling, or friend. Somebody lost their leg.
Yesterday, while we were busy having the Monday blues, somebody lost their child.
And we will get another Monday next week. And we will likely complain about it, and wish it were Friday. And that child will still be gone, and that parent will have a real reason to hate Mondays. And that parent won’t notice or care to complain about Monday or anything else. Because they lost their child, and they would rather take all of our complaints at once and deal with them than be left with this.
This loss. This grief. This pain.
And I keep thinking to myself, there are parents who lose their children every day in those countries an ocean apart. Every day is a Boston Marathon bombing for them.
How can this be what humans have come to? Or have we always been this way? Only now we have bigger guns and more efficient ways to hurt one another. And that’s our goal, isn’t it? To make each other hurt and suffer unimaginable losses.
And yet in the aftermath, and during the crisis, we somehow manage to help each other no matter what the race, or religous belief, or sexual orientation. We push aside our stupid inconsequential differences and help one another. Because loss is universal. We can all identify with that pain.
So let me say this to you. When we are busy complaining about things that are inconvenient, or hating someone because they look different or act different or believe different than we do, turn on the news.
Somebody lost their child today. And yesterday, and tomorrow.
Find your grief and your anger and use it to help and love each other as if ever day were a crisis day.
Because you know what? This is bullshit. Our behaviour is bullshit. It’s time to stop, and love, and end this.
Because one day you could be the one who lost their child.