Fifteen years ago, David and I were house-hunting in Connecticut. Our considerations included age of home, size of home, affordability and proximity to New York City.
There are a handful of houses that I remember seriously considering. One was a newly built white colonial. I remember its beautiful, enormous front porch. It was up on a hill in a lovely, family-oriented neighborhood. It met all of our needs, except it was a little farther from the city than other homes we were considering. We ultimately decided the reach was just too far and settled where we are today, in Danbury.
That beautiful, white colonial was is Sandy Hook, Connecticut.
Lila, age seven, is currently in second grade and Caleb, nine, is in fourth.
I picked Lila and Caleb up from their Danbury school on Friday and Caleb asked why there was a police car on campus.
We went home and spent the evening being normal – the five of us, together and safe.
We’ve continued to stick to our normal weekend routine, but all the while David and I think of the families who are no longer together. Caleb went on a school field trip on Saturday and Dave chaperoned. The bus went directly through the town of Newtown. As we learn the names, we realize, although indirectly, we have connections to some of them.
Our hearts are heavy, our minds confused.
We pray for the families in Sandy Hook.