I was writing something for today, a little later than usual, when I was interrupted by some texts and some Facebook messages that made the usual preparing-for-Christmas things seem rather unimportant.
Unless you live in the woods with no contact with the outside world—in which case, youwouldn't be reading this, would you?—you've heard by now the increasingly horrifying news out of Connecticut this morning.
I was trying to put my finger on the reason for the depth of my grief about these events unfolding, as they are, 400 miles away from where I sit now, when my mother texted me and said: "I just can't comprehend this. It's like if it happened at Hill & Plain." (Hill & Plain is the school we all attended as children.)
And that's it, exactly. I grew up a town away from Newtown; our town's sports teams played against theirs; I have friends and family who live there now.
It's not just that this hits close to home; it's that it is home.
So I've spent most of the morning—and I foresee spending most of the afternoon—adjusting the rabbit ears so I can get the news in on television, texting my mother and my sister and my friends and Facebook stalking until I'm certain everyone I know is okay, and hoping that everyone I know is, in fact, okay.
Please send love, and healing thoughts, and prayers (if you're the praying type) to the families of the students and staff at Sandy Hook Elementary School—especially the families the victims—and the wider community in the days to come.