Sometimes “Why” Isn’t Good Enough, But It’s All We Have

I wasn’t blessed with the opportunity to have children. It’s a regret I live with every day, a sad smile that comes across my face when I watch my neighbor’s son play with my Christmas lights, or I get a new set of photos from my sister. My purpose on this earth wasn’t to be a mother. The mountains won’t give me children.

I am thinking of my nephews tonight, my family. I want to hold them close, protect them from the hell that this world has become. I can’t fathom what any parent could be going through right now; can’t claim any knowledge of the fear, or the pain. I want to tell them how much I love them, how much they mean to me. How seeing their small faces, hear their laughter, watching the wonder cross their faces means the world.

But this goes for all of my friends, as well. This incredible road travels so many ups and downs. My own emotions get horribly tangled and entwined.

All I want to say tonight is I love you, to all my friends and family. You can NEVER say it enough.

Tonight we ask why, why something this horrible had to happen. I know it happens around the world, with regularity. But this one struck too close to home. I imagine my friends, my sister, all those with children themselves, who can’t wait for the kids to burst through the door in the afternoon screaming, “What’s for dinner?”  I try not to imagine those same friends and family dealing with the thought that their child, that spark of joy and wonder, isn’t coming home.

My Pop called tonight just as I started to write this, tearful and sobbing, I’m sure only barely coherent on the phone. “I love you so much, Pop,” I couldn’t say it enough. The same to my mom moments later. I revisited the conversation I had with them a few years ago, that while I try my best to be safe, and do everything in my power to mitigate the circumstances, there may be a trip where I don’t come home. They both understand, and they both worry. And I’m going to continue to do as much as I can to make sure I come home from every adventure.

Take a moment tonight. Tell those closest to you that you love them. Cry together. Hold each other. Be human beings.

And tomorrow, with the dawn, take a deep breath.

March onward to adventure.

And live.

 

From a quiet, small town in the Eastern Sierra, in the heart of the mountains I love so much:

Never be afraid to say I love you.

 

-L