I kiss a good day to my eleven year old son this morning, who goes to an elementary school, and he notices my soaking eyes. I have a folded newspaper under my arms and he can see some of the pictures of 6-7 year olds who died on Friday.
“Are you crying because all those innocent kids died?” he asks and hugs me.
“Well, yes but I am crying for all the parents who feel empty this school morning, unsure and unsettled about their lives – staring into oblivion, wondering what had they done wrong to…” and I break into sobs.
“I know it is too much to bear.” he says and hugs me tight.
“Yes, but while this world seems vile and evil in this tragedy, it is the pictures of these teachers and principal which makes me believe that we still have heroes amongst us and so, we have hope, no matter how faint it seems now.”
“I love you”, he says, face pressed against my body.
“I love you too; now go on and learn something.” I release him. “And one more thing,” I almost shout.
He turns around.
“Be brave.” I say and wipe my tears.
He smiles and runs off to his class.