I had a different feeling when I went to church on Sunday. I don’t go every Sunday; the intention is there, but my actions don’t usually follow. For the past 11 years there has been one thing on my mind when I kneel down to pray; my health. Once I address that issue, I can focus on anything else. There have been a few exceptions. Sunday was an exception.
Sunday reminded me of that 9.11 day when I walked into the chapel of The Westchester Medical Center to pray for my 8 year old recovering from a brutal dog attack as I did every day. In a few minutes it became evident that no one was praying for themselves or their own, everyone was praying for the victims of the awful tragedy of that day in the Trade Center.
When I kneeled down on Sunday I could not pray for anything that related to me or my own. I could only pray for the parents of those children who were taken from them so unfairly. No parent should ever have to bury their children and 20 will have to do it this week. I could only pray for them, for strength, for some kind of peace in the midst of the anguish in their heart.
It is incomprehensible the grief those families are enduring now. It is incomprehensible that so much evil can enter a person to commit such horrific crime. It is unfathomable that life will go on for them without their children.
Sunday I thought of the children of Newtown in every 6 year old I saw.
I am a parent. I still remember my kids little hand holding on to mine when we walked. I can still remember my 6 year old waiting for me to play when I came home. I am lucky. My children are grown. I got to enjoy every stage of their childhood. I watched and enjoyed the physical and emotional changes of their adolescent lives. I have witnessed those little miracles the parents of the 20 kids murdered on Friday were robbed of forever.
Sunday was a day to mourn the loss of those innocent babies. A day to pray that so much evil will never have a place in our world again. Sadly, neither will those little ones.