Remembering Children Lost

My heart aches today.  Because I know the anguish (sort of) that the families of the Sandy Hook tragedy are feeling today.  My pain is very different from theirs, but the emptiness is the same. The sense that something is missing is the same.  The anniversary of a death, especially the first one, is always difficult.  But, when it's your child, "difficult" doesn't even begin to describe what you go through on that first anniversary.  Mine was in August, so I had had some time to adjust before the holidays; but, these families, they are seeing merriment all around them, but they aren't feeling merry.  They can just think of "at this time last year".  Or, of the presents they would have bought their children.  They only see their missing child's face--in evert other child.  And hear their voices, perhaps singing a favorite Christmas carol.  I can't imagine their pain, because my child was an infant at the time of his death--he couldn't walk or talk.  He'd only begun to show us his personality; his likes and his dislikes.  But, these children, ages 5-7, were little people.  Their parents might feel pain when they hear that favorite song, or when a favorite food is served at a holiday party (if they are even going to one).  Are they baking and shopping and decorating?  I hope so.  But, I know, if they are, there's a piece of them that isn't enjoying it.  That is wondering "What if she/he were here?".  They'll play these thoughts over in their heads at every anniversary, at every birthday, at ever holiday.  What if, what if, what if.  It's a place no parent ever wants to be.  For me, it's a smidge easier because my son died from illness and not at the hands of another person.  I had several days before he died to come to terms with the fact that he was dying.  But, these families, their children were taken away in an instant.  While they worked or ran errands or cleaned the house.  While they had coffee with friends, laughing and discussing holiday travel plans, and oh, that stinker Jimmy, what he did this morning--he can drive them absolutely crazy.  And then, he's gone.  You see your child's school on the news.  Mass shooting.  And you wonder....

I can't imagine that fear.  Or the pain that followed when those parents learned it was their children who died.

So, today, I pray for these parents--including the parents of the adult children, the brave teachers who protected their students.  I can't understand exactly what they're going through, but I have lost a child.  I know how difficult this time of year is for us.  I know about the what-ifs, and the less-than-enthusiastic attitude about celebrating when a piece of you is missing.  Today won't be easy for them.  I can only hope that my prayers (and the others I know being said on their behalf) will be felt and can help carry them over until tomorrow.  And, for those survivors who are believers, I pray God's peace will envelope them and that His Light will shine in these dark days and hours when they remember.  No one can comfort quite like our God.

Psalm 34: 17-19 ~ "The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.  The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.  The righteous person may have many troubles, but the Lord delivers him from them all..."