I don’t know how to do this anymore.
I don’t know how to wake up in the morning and find that Kinley passed away through the night. That this bright, beautiful seventeen year old isn’t walking the earth anymore.
I don’t know how to watch the sunrise on my verandah while Megan and Mark get to sleep upstairs in their beds.
I don’t know how to live with my gratitude that extends to – who – just a few of us?
I don’t know how to live anymore with the dichotomy of fear and calm. Of gratitude and anger.
I don’t know how to count my blessings or be thankful anymore.
I no longer know how to have perspective. What does that look like?
I don’t know how to honour all of these amazing children. These children of my Mommas. These children who have been stolen from their families.
And also these children who have relapsed and whose families have pressed this insane repeat button. Too many of us this past year. Weren’t we all just there? In Texas? Taking on the world? How is this happening?
I don’t know where, or how, to find the words I need. To help. To give strength.
I don’t know how to keep being as selfish as I am with what I get to have.
I don’t know why I get the privilege of asking these questions as they scream and grieve and cry and ask other questions I can’t even begin to fathom.
I don’t know how to keep doing this. To be the lucky one of the unlucky ones. For now.
I don’t know how.
I don’t know how anymore.
But it doesn’t matter if I don’t know how.
Because none of what I don’t know matters.
What I do know is that each of these Mommas – my Mommas who I stood shoulder to shoulder with only four years ago – would give their lives to be asking the same questions I get the opportunity of asking this morning.
And that is all there is.
But I still don’t know how it can be.