I was offline on Monday. Tired. Exhausted. Taking a break from the internet. After a week of kids off for Spring break, a child recovering from wisdom teeth surgery, and hours spent collating my end of the taxes, I was fit for nothing more than snoozing on Tuesday after putting the kids on the bus. As I dozed, I knew I needed to get up and tackle work and home projects, but the couch was too comfy.
A ringing phone woke me from my slumber. It was my husband asking me if I had heard. Heard what? He explained what he had heard about a tragedy that happened in my community this weekend. I was shocked. I won’t go in to details about what happened. I don’t want to intrude on the family’s privacy. It’s also not my story to tell, but I am absolutely heartbroken.
When my older two arrived home from school, I spoke to each of them. Asked what they knew. Told them what I knew. Asked them to come to me if they were upset or confused. Hugged both. Tried not to sound too anxious. Assured them that I will always be there for them. Asked them if they were O.K.
There wasn’t much more I could do. I was dumbstruck. Devastated. I had no words. No words at all.