I have been thinking a lot this morning. Mostly thoughts that are way too heavy to have before breakfast or the first cup of caffeine.
I’ve thought about writing. About how editing my book is going, and how I really need to just get it done. I’ve thought about how much easier making ends meet would be if I had another source of income, even if it were just fifty dollars a month. I’ve thought about the bills that just seem to pile up one on top of the other.
I’ve thought about how tomorrow my little boy will be turning 9. I want to bring him cupcakes to school and send his picture in to the local news for their birthday drawing. I have to decorate and pick up the cake. The house is clean for the moment and hopefully will stay that way long enough for his party. (House work is another one of those things that likes to pile up.)
I’ve thought about war. September 11 I was sitting in a college math class taking a test. I didn’t know about plane hijackings or the two towers until afterward when I entered the student center and saw it broadcast on the tv screen and reflected in the faces of those gathered around them. At the time everyone standing there knew what would happen in retaliation.
On my calender, printed under the date, are the words Sept. 11th remembrance. How strange it seems to me that I have lived enough time that something happened important enough to be added to calenders. I’ve thought of the people who have died and continue to do so and the people who will meet their deaths in future wars.
I have thought about missing children and how their parents must feel. When you get married you exchange vows and make promises in front of witnesses. If you serve in office, join the military, or become a first responder; you also announce your intentions to serve. As a parent those promises are made silently as soon as that child enters your world. They are made in smiles, hugs, and kisses. The are made by the tightening of your heart and the overwhelming knowledge that another person depends on you with complete trust.
How hard must it be. How it must hurt to not know. Just the thought of one of my children going missing is hard enough just to put into words and causes my throat to tighten.