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Twenty Balloons to the Skies

What a sincere challenge it is to continue with usual, everyday life, picking up dry cleaning and remembering milk on the way home from work, when those 20 little children in Connecticut exist no longer.

What a struggle it is to get on with the dozens of tasks that occupy our existence — suddenly appallingly conspicuous in such stark contrast to theirs — without getting lost in dark wonderings about their final moments or the way the news must have yanked all the joy from their parents’ souls.


Ultimately, there isn’t much the lot of us can do out here but uselessly return to the news again and again in our brain and in our media, or click on the Facebook memes that invite us to scold politicians and marvel at how far we’ve fallen, each encounter aching for a different outcome.

But it’s not enough.

It’s not enough to bemoan the lack of appropriate response from political players or gun lobbyists.

It’s not enough to despair over the fact that an American can buy an assault weapon at Walmart or that one more bloated politician has declared that the only solution is to arm teachers to the same level as their students.

It’s not enough, even, to remember all those sweet souls’ names, and the way their mommies and daddies almost certainly have Christmas gifts tucked away in their closets for their babies that’ll never see the light of day.

Lose the guns. No more weapons. No more senseless tragedies. No more innocence lost. That’d be enough.

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