Motherhood Part II: Softer

At the end of November I wrote part one of a two part series on motherhood.  This is the second part.  This particular blog post will have a completely different and much sadder tone than I originally planned.  As I write this our entire nation mourns the deaths of 20 children and 6 adults killed in a brutal and senseless school shooting on Friday, December 14th in Newtown, CT.  I think perhaps we are all viewing parenthood just a bit differently now, holding our kids just a bit tighter, realizing with renewed eyes what little blessings we have.

 

Viral Photo Collage Courtesy of MSN.Com

The above photo shows 20 little bright, smiling faces.  These children ate breakfast, got ready for school, hugged their parents goodbye, and went to the one place they should always be safe:  school.  They never got to go back home again.  Their parents will never hold them again.  There are unopened Christmas gifts under beautiful trees that will never know the joy of surprised little faces opening them up on Christmas morning.  All of the wonderful, happy holiday decorations we enjoy in our homes are now mocking those left with an empty space at their dinner tables.  I weep every single time I think about it.  I cannot know the pain of this community as intimately as those living this nightmare, but I can empathize with it.  I can imagine their pain because I feel it too, albeit to a much lesser extent.  I cry for you Sandy Hook Elementary.  I cry for you.  So does the rest of our glorious nation.  But our tears will not heal this hurt.  I know that.

I also know that I will never look at my own children the same.  I already knew that we are never guaranteed tomorrow.  I learned that lesson at a very early age.  I knew that I could lose my babies.  But that isn't something I ever wanted to think about so I buried it deep, deep down under layers of love and comfort. But I can't do that today. I can't bury this fear that it could have been one of my babies. It could have been my six year old step daughter, so bright and bubbly herself. It could have been my seven year old niece or my four year old nephew.  I am not going to lie, when I first heard this happened I dropped to my knees and prayed for these babies and their families and in the very next breath I said, "Oh thank you God.  Thank you for sparing my family this pain today." This could have been any of our children.  And that's why none of us will ever be the same.

As I sat and watched this horrific story unfold on the news and online I was surprised to feel wetness coursing down my cheeks.  I am not a crier.  I have never been a crier.  I was a nurse for a short period.  Working in the hospital made me tougher than I already was.  I could watch the most horrific events imagined with a stoic expression and no tears.  That doesn't mean I didn't feel it.  It just means I didn't show it.  But here I sat--all but sobbing.  I can't say I wouldn't have cried before, but I do think I cried harder now. I cried harder because now I have two little children of my own and this hit closer to home than it would have before.

You have to understand, I've never been one to cry.  I never even cried happy tears.  I'm still not much of a crier.  However, I find myself going a little misty at surprising things lately.  For instance, I was surprised to find my vision blurred by tears watching Issa go down the road on her first ever parade float.  I have no idea why that got to me, but it did.  I was so proud of her and overcome with so much love for her little smiling face that there I stood on the side of the parade route--almost crying.

When Ava came to visit she drew a picture of the two of us in chalk on the sidewalk and then she wrote "I love you" underneath it.  I went all watery eyed then too.  I was so in awe that such a beautiful, amazing little girl could be (part) mine and want to love me that there I stood:  all misty eyed on my front porch.

You see, motherhood makes us softer.  I think it has to.  We have to be a little softer because our hearts have to grow a little bigger to contain all the love we have for our children.  

And our hearts grow a little bit harder too--harder so we can defend our children because we are all mama bears and all those brave women who died at Sandy Hook Elementary trying to defend these children who were not even their own, they were mama bears too.