A Letter from a Child

The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting captivated our nation in the worst way as we followed the news channels in horror and heartbreak as if our unyielding perusal might somehow find that elusive 'redo' button that could make the whole tragedy go away.

As if it could restore little beating hearts to the arms of their mommies and daddies.

As if it could pull a grieving parent off their child's grave.

For days after the event, as reports and rumors of copycats and other heartless killers wreaked havoc on our collective psyche, our community grieved for the parents facing the destruction of a life they valued above their own. The thought of what they went through and would go through for the rest of their lives was as fathomless as the pain we saw in their eyes. Chilling. It was chilling to the core.

As a green-horned mother of a lively two-year old and a wiggling baby, I felt the cataclysm like a clamminess in my bones. I felt survivors guilt for a calamity that wasn't mine, and with it, an underlying sense of unease about the future. My kids were going to go to school one day. How would their experience differ from mine? Would shooters be so rampant that Code Black drills became as common as fire drills? (The answer is yes, yes they are.)

As I laid awake at night unable to push the sadness for what I felt of the childless parents from my mind, I got to thinking, 'what if?' 'What if' is a deplorable thought, and I hate it with venom. I refused to dwell on the faces of my children where they shouldn't be, but I could not help but see the little faces on the T.V., on the internet, on posters, everywhere... the children who were there, where they should not be.

But then God reminded me, as He does, that those children are not in the T.V.. They are not in that school, on the floor, or in the ground. They are somewhere much more pleasant. I was reminded of Heaven where the little ones certainly are now, safely in the arms of Jesus. Maybe they understand it all. Maybe they don't need to. I don't know, and none of us will until we join them ourselves.

But it gave me a new purpose to this obsession I, along with most of the country, was chained to concerning Sandy Hook and its missing children. I began to imagine what those children would want their parents to know if they could communicate to them. So I wrote what came to my mind. It came out well, I think, or at least well enough to finally release the pent up trauma I was borrowing.

I briefly considered at the time giving a copy of the little book to the grieving parents, but it occurred to me quickly that while I meant encouragement, it might be less of a comfort and more of an annoyance or even an insult. Who am I to speak for their kids? I didn't even know them. I decided it was best to let it be, existing in the Amazon world for those who sought it and let the grieving grieve.

I have always wondered, as copies trickled from the shelves, if it ever reached someone who was more closely affected by the Sandy Hook shooting, and if so, if it helped them a little. Not because of any insight or wisdom of mine, but of one more assurance that we all care about their pain and want to remind them that there is more out there for us than is broken world. No one is alone.

Kindle and Paperback:

https://www.amazon.com/Letter-Child-Humble-Poem/dp/1484813553/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1517268391&sr=1-5&keywords=Kimberlee+Long