Chains on My Fingers

April 26, 1999

My heart has been held captive lately.  I write what I feel, and I have felt a profound sorrow for this last week.  The sorrow of my soul has placed chains upon my fingers. 

There are several reasons why I write here, one of them being that I want to be able to give to my children a part of me that they will be able to remember.  I want that part to be more than just pictures, pieces of my life which are special, often enjoyed alone.

Written moments from solitude are no longer moments of solitude. 

I like that.

I write because I like to write, and I write because people enjoy it. 

I have seen as much horror and sadness as I can watch this week.  I watched, not as a voyeur, but as a parent.

Saturday I stood in the kitchen watching Rachel's funeral broadcast live from Littleton.  My son had just brought a friend home from soccer and they were running around in the house. 

I was busted in the kitchen this day, by a 13-year-old, and his friend, who ran smack dab into a wall of reality that I wish they had not had to see. 

My son was truly taken back. 

His big 'ol dad was standing there crying. 

We have been blessed in this house, no tragedy.  Children's tears of course, over lost games, lost clothes, and such.  But no real first hand look at death or destruction. 

Not for them at least. 

I've had more than my fill, especially when I have gone to funerals for client's kids.  But I have been alone on those times. 

The grief was in his kitchen, and on my face.

I am truly ashamed that my 13-year-old had to watch grief come into his kitchen, because of other children having gone mad, a thousand miles away.

In the last couple of days they have also reminded me that they see lit candles. 

Tonight before I parked my car in the garage, I stopped and got out to check out the artwork on my driveway.  The middle child, the one with golden hair, had drawn all over the driveway.

DAD it said, in 3-foot tall letters.

There were two mountains drawn in chalk, covered with evergreen trees.  On the Left side of the driveway in bright orange and pink chalk   MOUNTAINS ---->

Underneath the mountains, a second set, with a giant sun and a rainbow of color.  Underneath, just to be sure I saw, was SUNSET.

Go figure.  Just the night before at a baseball game, my son was waving frantically at me from the dugout.  Finally I saw him.  He wanted to take his warm-up jacket off of me, he had gotten cold. 

On the way home he said.  "I looked out there and saw you staring at the sky and I wondered what in the world you were watching.  Then I saw the moon.  Then I saw you staring at the sunset.  I hope this summer that I can see the green ray.

I hope so too.

Verne says, it is the green of paradise. 

We sure can use a bit of that these days.