I was so happy this morning. Today is my grandson's 6th birthday. He's very excited about the Avenger's cake that he's bringing to school to celebrate. There's a stack of gifts waiting for him to open.
Today, his mother gave birth to her third child, a beautiful daughter. Grandson is not happy to share his birthday, and I'm honestly sorry about the coincidence of birthdays. But I'm elated about the birth of another grandchild, and the good health of her and her mother, my daughter. It's a day to be joyous and celebrate.
Except that my heart is breaking for the horrific violence in Newtown, Connecticut, a town barely 100 miles from us. The news networks are still getting their figures straight, but as it stand now, a man walked into an elementary school with 600 children, plus faculty and staff, and started shooting. Current information is that 26 people, including 18 children ages 5-10, are dead.
Children who, with their parents, were eagerly awaiting the arrival of Santa, the lighting of candles, solemn rituals or joyous celebrations, will not see them. Their parents will spend Christmas - and every day - mourning their loss. It's impossible to reconcile this season of warmth and goodwill with senseless murder. My heart is breaking.
My granddaughter is born. I'm overjoyed. But my heart is breaking.