As I sit here this morning, still processing the news of the horrific shooting at the Pulse Night Club in Orlando early yesterday, my heart is overwhelmed. I have driven past this building many times while taking my mom to her doctor’s appointments. It was just a building. I never knew what was inside. Now that building is filtered through the lens of who I am; a Christian and a mother. And it is the duality of these roles that causes my heart to break with every update that I hear.
As a Christian, I am commanded by God to walk in love. Love to me is an action word yet I sit here not knowing what to do. Yes, I am in constant prayer for our city and the families and loved ones who have suffered loss in this tragedy. But, like so many others in this city right now, I don’t know what to do to help. You can’t just run down to the area because you don’t want to be in the way. The hospitals don’t need my blood type, so my hands longing to take action sit idle.
As a mother, I am grief stricken. Every time I see another mother on TV fretting over the whereabouts of her baby, my eyes fill with tears. You see most of our children will never understand that no matter how old they are, they will always be our babies. To wonder if your child is dead or alive must be excruciating. And I can’t imagine that knowing that your child did not survive can’t be much better. I look at this generation that seems to most represent the ages of the victims of this tragedy and I think of how much they have had to deal with in their young lives. From Columbine to Orlando, they’ve processed unspeakable tragedies and that also makes me sad.
One thing I know for sure. None of us knows the exact number of days that we will walk upon this earth. If you are estranged from your child, reach out and attempt to make peace. Turn the porch light on and let them know its ok to try to find their way home. You don’t want to wait until it’s too late and carry the burden of regret for the rest of your life. And if your children are close by, hug them. It doesn’t matter how grown they are, they are still that precious little life that you carried for 9 months. Yesterday, after church I was able to go to dinner with my husband, my mom and my son. As I walked out of the restaurant arm and arm with my son, I did not take it lightly or for granted just how blessed I am. Somebody in the “757” needs to hug my other son for me.