My son Owen, seven years old and in first grade, is as sweet and funny a little bundle of gap-toothed cuteness as I can possibly imagine. Lately I’ve been watching him seem to grow right before my eyes, and have been hugging him a little more often, willing him to stay so adorable and innocent and small just a few days longer, so I can really soak it in.
And it’s Owen I think of now, when I think of Newtown.
Not just Owen, of course, but how much he brings to me as a mother, and defines us as a family. How much his presence would be missed. How absolutely horrifying, unthinkable and devastating it would be to lose him.
I can’t breathe when I think of what the scene at the firehouse must have been like, or what those parents are doing or feeling right now. [click to continue…]