Nineteen.
Nineteen children,
gone.
Nineteen families’ lives,
coming
unraveled.
When I saw the news about the shooting in Uvalde last night I immediately felt sick, and restless. Alone in the house I went upstairs to my boys’ bedroom. I stared at their empty bunk beds, my youngest’s stuffed bunny on his pillow, my oldest’s library books stacked beside. Dirty clothes that didn't quite make it into the hamper, a favorite toy truck left out in the middle of the floor, a handful of legos scattered around. I thought about how grateful I was that they would be home soon, playing in their room and getting ready for bed. And I thought about nineteen families going home to similar bedrooms at that very moment.
Only theirs will stay empty. There will be no one to snuggle the bunny, the clothes will stay in the floor. The truck and the legos won’t get played with, no laughter while getting ready for bed. Library books will still need to be returned, and I wonder if any will be kept.
I melted into the floor and sobbed.