Don’t Sing That Song

I woke up twenty times last night and each time I thought the same thought. Their mothers must still be shrieking. Shrieking and keening. Making sounds they never heard themselves make. That’s what the Sandy Hook mothers are doing, I know it. And then I’d fall back asleep only to wake again with the same thought. All night until the grey light of this rainy Saturday signaled time to get up, make coffee, and read the paper where the first paragraph of the article about the Sandy Hook School shootings was in extra large font, probably the same they used on 9/11. A picture of a man looking to the heavens only made me wonder about the murdered children’s moms.

Most women will tell you that there have been times in their lives when they hid in the shower to shriek and keen, to sob and cry out, and to…