As tragedy has once again struck our land, a tragedy that I am sure will be politicized and ‘religionized’ over the coming days and weeks, I am at a loss. Many words have been written over the last few days about this senseless massacre of children and teachers at Sandy Hook and I have a small crumb to add.
I am fumbling…and even the words I do have pail in comparison to the grief the parents and families are feeling as they have to grieve hard and feel the gaping wound of death during this sacred season, their tragedy forever tainting this holy time.
This blog is dedicated to them, the holy memory of their children, and to all who have experienced death during seasons when celebration is the norm as our little worlds seem to be spiraling out of control.
I am acquainted with grief in my life, but no more or no less than many others. During my childhood and teenage years, I buried five grandparents and my father. And since then I have buried my son, my aunt, my mom and one of my brothers.
I have some acquaintance with death and grief but I would be remiss to believe I can begin to fathom what the parents and families in Connecticut are going through. So, in wading into the morass of the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of the shooting, I can only offer what I have experienced without being pretentious.
The following is the only poem I have ever been able to write about my son. And I will simply quote the first time I posted this to my previous blog on September 15, 2009:
This is the first poem I’ve written about the stillborn death of my son, Quinn, who came into this sacredly ragamuffin world and (just) passed right on through to God’s tender lap…still oh so many years later, I can feel him and I know he is free. I share this in humility, trembling in sacred gratitude and the anger and loss of unanswered questions.
Calling All The Angels I’m calling out for all the Angels. I’m faltering, I’m falling hard…& and I just can’t walk through this night not this night alone. I’m calling all the angels, please walk me through this Night. I’m falling, I’m dying, and I just can’t make it through… I see this man, He lay dying, bleeding His soul all on the streets… I’m looking, I’m searching, But I just can’t make it through… I’m calling all Angels, Calling all the angels, I’m dying, I’m trying, but I just can’t make it tonight alone. I cry out for mercy, holding my first & only... flesh of my flesh, this divine bone Of my bone, lifeless, and Still… But I feel his heart beating, hard and fast In my hands, But still He is, still (and) lifeless. I’m calling all angels, calling all angels, Please help me through this night, But I’m not sure how… To make it through this growing darkness. I’m dying, but still, he is…so still, and Still life is so sweet… I’m calling all angels…I’m not sure how to make it This Night; Please walk me through this darkness, So I can join my flesh, once again, Through this darkness, To find the Light, and find my way through this night, so I can feel like a newborn Angel.