lost moments

I was doing the ordinary today. Making a bowl of tuna salad. Carefully putting the exact amount of mayo. Exact amount of just right sized celery. Chopping and stirring to the perfect balanced texture. Exactly as my daughters like it. I thought about it because they come home from college in a few days so it was natural to think about how they always told me to make it. Truth is my younger daughter's been telling us what to do since she was knee-high. I know. We all know where this is going.

How many parents in Newtown are going to face these ordinary, mundane everyday tasks and suddenly realize the magnitude of what they will no longer have.

They won't have those moments. Many of us think in big terms. They won't see their child graduate. Get married. Have children. But it's the everyday that perhaps for me would be devastating.

If I no longer could use that litte tuna moment in my life to remind me how much I want to see my daughters home again. And I will. I am so incredibly lucky... blessed... use any word you like.

You see it comes down to moments, not giant achievements. Tucking them in. Checking under the living room sofa for toys before vacuuming. Sticking notes in their lunchbox. Giving them spit-baths to get the jelly off their face. Smiling when the little voice in the backseat says "Mommy you're going the wrong way" or shaking your head when the other little voice says "Mommy make him stop kicking me." Good moments, all of them. Parental moments.

This is the stuff of parenthood. This is what is lost when a tragedy strikes and we lose a child. Now magnify each and every moment a thousandfold when we lose 20. So we light candles and say prayers and argue guns or mental health. In the end it matters little. Those moments remain lost forever.

So I will treasure every one of those moments I still have. I hope you will do the same.

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