Hugging him tight

I wrote previously about the sheer terror that edges every single blessed second of the day. That paralyzing fear of the unknown and circumstances that might hurt Logan, both those things beyond my control and those that are results of a careless decision made by me.

That bone-deep fear was heightened Friday, with the news of that horrible shooting in Newtown. As soon as I read about it, I texted my mom to hug him tight for me, because I knew he was okay, but I was at work and I couldn't hug him myself.

All I kept thinking about, and keep thinking about, is how I'd react if I sent him off to school one day, thinking it was a routine Friday. Giving him a kiss, handing him his lunch, and telling him that we're having mac n' cheese for dinner, and would you like to go to Legoland to see the winter displays this weekend? And then, never seeing him again because some madman wanted his name emblazoned in history.

I half-jokingly told Mike that should anything ever happen to Logan, he should just automatically put me on a suicide watch. If I make it through that grief, I'm not making it out whole. I just know it. If we have a second kid, I'll probably make it, because I would never voluntarily abandon my children, but if we only have Logan...well, let's hope it never comes to that.

It's funny, because I've never been a woman who dreamed of having kids. I didn't pine away, feeling empty as the first 35 years of my life went by, barren. When I turned 34, I started feeling wistful about it, but it didn't consume my thoughts at all.

Now that I have Logan, I'm constantly surprised by the intensity of my emotion for him. Never before could I have said that I would die for someone and know, 100% without any hesitation whatsoever, that I would drink poison, slit my throat, jump off a bridge, whatever it took, without thinking about it at all. Before Logan, I would have hoped that I could have been on those of those people who does what she can to save someone else's life at the risk of her own, but you can't ever know if you are until you're in those situations.

Now, though, with Logan, I KNOW.

So, for the past three days, in an entirely new experience of mourning a distant tragedy, I've been periodically crying, thinking of those parents in Newtown. Thinking of those innocent children, some of whom had to watch that lunatic kill their friends, waiting while he went down the line, shooting them all multiple times. I can hear, in my mind, their cries for Mommy and Daddy and dying alone, afraid and not understanding.

I picture Logan in that classroom, and I lose my mind a little bit. I squeeze him hard, bury my face in his neck or stare at the monitor for minutes on end, just watching him sleep.

President Obama gave a very moving speech tonight (believe it or not, I'm not going to politicize this at all), and I watched a tear track its way down his face. I realized, the most powerful man in the world has the EXACT same fear as I do. No doubt, he lives every day wondering if some crazy is contemplating trying to destroy him through his children. I wonder if he regrets putting them at risk as an unavoidable consequence of being President, and I'd bet my house that he does.

I hug to my heart that 99.9% of people in this world are good. They just want to live their lives, raise their kids to be healthy and happy, have Thanksgiving dinner and family vacations. They don't want to kill or steal or hurt anybody else. They don't want to blow up planes or buildings. They don't want to spray bullets into crowds.

That thought is how I'm able to set Logan down and leave the room or run errands outside of the house. It's how I'll get up and go to work tomorrow, and I'll trust that he'll be there, smiling and waving his arms when I come home.

Those parents in Newtown don't have that. There's nothing that anybody can say or do to make that better. Some hurts go too deep and some wounds can never heal.

May those beautiful, innocent children rest in peace.