restoring our faith in the world after an immeasurable tragedy
When I read the story about the recent shootings in Connecticut, I called my father. One reason is because he is American, and a part of me feels like he needs to explain the actions of anyone in his abandoned country to me. Another reason is because he is my father, and when I’m faced with an incomprehensible act, I want him to explain it to me. I want him to box it up in a perfect, understandable, pretty package for me. And even though I know that right now, he’s as mystified as I am, I wish I was naïve enough that he could lie to me.
I’ve been through two major traumas in my life, one as a child. They have both forever changed who I am as a person. I know first-hand, that the world isn’t a beautiful, charmed place. I know there are some things in this world that we have absolutely no control over, and that events happen without rhyme and reason.
As much as I try to deny it, I know our lives and worlds are incredibly fragile. I know we’re more helpless than we care to admit. And perhaps it’s because I’ve experienced these things that I desperately try to hold onto the pieces of my childhood innocence that are left. I don’t think these lessons have made me stronger. I think they’ve made me harder. Faced with taking them away, I would. No hesitation.
My favourite piece of jewellery is a pendant of a carousel horse and I’ve worn it pretty much every day for six years. I wear it because it reminds me of when I was a child and I thought the world was completely full of magic and beauty. It reminds me of when I thought that my father or Tenderheart would be able to banish everything bad in the world.
And I think I do a good job, most of the time, at looking at the sunny side of the street. I try, so hard, to look at all the positives in my life. I try to read all of the warm fuzzy news stories. I drink pink lemonade, and I jump in puddles, and I dance in the middle of shopping centres when I like the song.
But sometimes, when I hear stories like the Connecticut shootings, I cry for hours, and it’s difficult for me to leave my bed.
This obviously isn’t a story about what happened, because there are enough of those. This isn’t a story about gun control, which I am all for, but again, there are articles out there that are far more considered than anything I can write.
This is a plea, from me to you.
I want to believe that people, in their heart of hearts, are good.
I want to believe in the strength of the human spirit.
I want to believe in a world of sunshine and rainbows and lollipops.
So, please. In this time that is so incomprehensible to me, and I’m sure to many of you, please give me some news that will restore my faith, even just a fraction, in the world again.
I think this is something that many of us need right now.
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