Not so very far from here, a mother waits by her front door for her daughter to come home. Or for the uniformed officers to knock on that door and tell her the worst news a mother's heart could ever know.
Not so very far from here, a father sits by a hospital bed, his child's hand in his own, knowing that there will be physical agony and emotional horror ahead for his teenager, that the bomb which lasted but a moment has brought a new resident to his doorstep, a terror which has forced its way in and will never be forgotten.
Not so very far from here, those whose job it is to investigate, to identify, to interrogate are working without sleep, without respite. Those of us who are protected by their work will never comprehend the terrible things they see, the things they do not turn away from, so that all of us may be safe.
Not so very far from here, my kids are waking up and walking a dog down a very safe road. They are eating breakfast and sighing over final exams. They are putting dishes away in the wrong places and forgetting to do homework, and not listening to the 10,000th time I tell them what time we need to leave for the dentist.
And I couldn't be more grateful.
Because I could be that mother not so very far from here. In fact, we all are. Those babies who died because of someone else's rage and insanity belong to all of us. May we love each other better and love each other more. Because there is no difference between here and and not so very far from here.
