I’m proud to call myself the PRactical PR Guy. Through one lens, I see this week’s baby killings as a crisis of epic proportions — a crisis of community and literally dozens of organizations ill equipped (perhaps) for an unexpected slaughter–police, a school district, hospitals and health care organizations–even politicians with their callous opportunism.
The reality is, none of that matters to this Guy, for now anyway. I’m a Dad first. A human being who can’t fathom the shock and horror of a Dad getting a call on his cell to be told that his little one may be dead. The long commute and the bank account with that loud sucking sound just don’t seem that important anymore.
How much does it matter that there’s a medical examiner who may be seen as “too giddy” to be in the limelight, or whether police could tell us what the children were wearing when they were gunned down (Did a reporter really ask that question?). I’m the Dad of a high school senior, a 9th grade daughter and a 5th-grade boy. They are the Triple Crown of my life. They are the treasures that will always shine bright in this ornate chest called life. Losing any of them for any reason at any time is unfathomable. But as 6-year-olds, just as they throttle me with “why Dad?”, learn to tie their shoes, giggle through goobersmooches–and sing along to Barney (let’s not go there). Well, it’s too much to handle. Seemingly. My sister and I have always agreed. “You can mess with me, you can mess with my spouse–you can mess with anything EXCEPT, do not mess with my kids.” Doing so will reap a grave response. First response. Hellish response. Good or bad, right or wrong, It Just Is. It’s that simple.
It’s time to grieve, reflect–and to pray for every parent who faces a gaping wound much more painful than those blasted by a mentally ill boy. The parents face a lifetime of loss. That’s why we pray. That’s why we feel rage and sadness. And disgust.
Sleep little children. Sleep. Horror found you, but it is no more. I see your faces high in the blue yonder somewhere. A heavenly site. Little ones romping and rolling through the grass, hiding from Peek-A-Boo Dad, discovering a lizard on a brick (Why shouldn’t Heaven have lizards?). And waiting on Mom and Dad to come join the fun.
That’s what I choose to see. It helps. And brings a little smile to my face.
Blessings to all those in the whirlwind of tragedy.
My kids rock. May blessings and safety be upon you forever.