Really, are there any words left that we can say after a mass murder? Nothing explains it. Nothing can ever make it better.
And yet Bud asked me about it last night. I used the Mr. Rogers line "look for the good," pointing out the heroes and first responders. But that can't ameliorate 58 dead and 529 injured. I tried to tell him about the book I'm reading--Karen Armstrong's The Case for God--I'm just beginning it, in the chapters that trace ancient beliefs in both logos and mythos, how God was not a "being" really, more of a divinity, a spark of life that is in everything. I said everyone has a spark like that--him, me, the heroes and responders, only in some, like the shooter, it is shrouded in darkness, for any number of reasons (not inherent evil, though. I don't believe in that.) Then I try to tell him that Connecticut has one of the lowest gun murder rates in the country (I think we're third lowest), that we try to keep him safe. Without making it scary, I hope, I also said it's why we try to treasure each day, try not to go to bed angry, kiss goodbye, and say "I love you," because you never do quite know. We cuddled on the couch for awhile. And I tried not to think if my body could completely shield his from a rain of bullets.
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