My five often unruly, often psychotic, children are occasionally mentioned in my bloggy rants. But the events of late have made me regard them in a different light. Don't get me wrong - they are still ever present in their annoying way and not just a bad dream my impaired mind has conjured up. It's just at this moment I want to ignore their little (little - ha!) irritating behaviours and hug them a little tighter, look at them a little longer and tolerate their little tantrums.
I don't want to overdo the conversation or trivialise the horrific event that recently occurred in Connecticut. I see my son at six. I see my daughter at seven. Their innocence and simplicity. The event may have happened thousands of kilometres across the seas, but it may as well have happened here at our local primary school. It has touched us deeply.
When the Twin Towers fell in 2001, I was in the Mother-Baby Unit at Melbourne's Monash Hospital. Ella was 7 weeks old. I was tired, confused, anxious, intensely sad, floating on a cocktail of medication and couldn't think clearly. I watched the news report as it unfolded, watched the second tower being hit and thought this was the end of the world. I thought that if I had been there I could have saved a life. In my pyjamas in Melbourne I blamed myself for a life taken overseas. I was scared that if I thought too much about New York, I might make it happen here in Melbourne. I panicked for my husband who worked in the Rialto, Melbourne's tallest building of the day.
I'm scared that if I allow myself to think and grieve for these little angels, I might get lost in it again. I mean no disrespect - it truly is a parent's worst nightmare. I will hold my five young ferals close to me and count my blessings each and every single day.
Love to you all xx
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