I just feel like there have been too many mornings like this morning.
Mornings following horror and tragedy.
I fell asleep last night while watching the news (again). I fell asleep while watching more images of people running in fear, and more images of smoke and ambulances and tears. I fell asleep to the sound of more news pundits interviewing more eyewitnesses and more terror experts.
I fell asleep with my arms wrapped more tightly around my children (again).
How many times has this happened now? Too many times. I don’t want to count.
There have been too many mornings like this. Mornings where I have to quickly switch from the news to Dora the Explorer, so my toddler won’t have to see the images of broken things and broken people. So she won’t start asking questions about accidents and boo boos. So I won’t have to answer questions that she shouldn’t have to ask.
What bothers me the most is I feel myself getting USED to this kind of morning. I feel my brain and body slowly acclimating to news of terror. I feel my heart responding to this kind of news with a sort of:
“Oh no. Again?”
And then I have to go about my day, with a sense of sadness that will slowly fade, with a sense of heartache for people I do not know but can imagine knowing. And with a sinking feeling, knowing that another morning like this will happen again, probably all too soon.