Sandy Hook requiem from 2012

Seven years have passed and nothing has changed…….

Every time I scroll Facebook now I see another photo of one of the poor little children who were so senselessly murdered. It doesn’t get any easier not to cry..not to care.

I can’t imagine those parents, those families…. what they are being forced to endure through no fault of their own. No words exist which could ever fully comfort them. No amount of money or wordly goods will bring back their lost joy.

Don’t we owe it to them to at least try…at the very least try as a country to do better? To be better? It is time for us as a country to quit pointing fingers…but instead to join hands and dream some solutions into that as we continue to look at the photos of those babies over the coming years we don’t get a whispered question from them….”why haven’t you done something yet?”

Is the blood of children not enough to move us to act? If it’s not…then perhaps we really are beyond help.

Walking like Grandpa

I’ve walked over 5000 miles, probably closer to 6000, according to this “Fitbit “ I wear since I started this daily ritual over three and a half years ago. I don’t know if it’ll extend my years any though.

I can’t remember back far enough in my childhood to remember when my Grandpa Jervis was any active man of any sorts. I remember having to live with my Grandparents for half a year when I was 10 years old, and Grandpa mostly just sat around in his chair and listened to his radio, and sang songs out of his songbooks, and smoked his pipe. Occasionally during that long snowy winter, he would drag himself, bad knees and all, out of his chair and go down to the woodshed and haul a wheelbarrow of wood or two up in front of the porch and toss it piece by piece over the porch rail onto the porch right next to the door. Bad knees, but nothing wrong with those strong arms.

That was 1960, and Grandpa was born in 1893, so…that woulda made him…67. Just like I am today.

I don’t smoke a pipe, and the radio is long gone. I love music, but don’t have any song books except Grandpa’s old ones that I salvaged. I don’t sit around all day anymore though. I hope I never have to.

Seven years ago on this day, I didn’t know it fully quite yet, but I was entering into the hardest two weeks, and then the hardest year of my life. Four bypasses are a tough haul. It’s certainly something my Grandpa never had to go through, and he lived to be 98, albeit the last several years, he was not “himself”. I don’t expect my body will carry me that far, but I’m certainly going to keep on walking, and hope I can get there.

I’ve still got a lot I want to do, grandchildren to watch grow, and junk I’ve collected that will take at least 20 years to get rid of. I have love I want to give, and stars in the sky which I haven’t yet seen.

I want to better understand this Universe in which we live, so that perhaps when I leave this little speck on which I live, I can enter into whatever comes afterwards in joy and not sadness.