It could have been my sister

This Connecticut shooting has me an emotional mess. I won’t lie. I just don’t deal well with this kind of stuff. That’s why I’m usually not “in the loop” with the news, because I’m just emotionally healthier not knowing, even if that’s maybe wrong.

Obviously it screwed me up because they’re kids. They’re young and little and innocent. Not all that much older than my own babes in the grand scheme of things. It’s terrifying to think of such a thing happening to my own littles.

And the absolute lack of support and attachment that that young man had to have had with both his parents and the rest of the world makes me sad and sick. To think our society has allowed for someone to feel so unloved and sad that they could do such a heinous thing. I do think parenting plays a huge part in this. Because murderers aren’t the people who had parents who loved them unconditionally and supported them and raised them attached. They just don’t. It’s proven. So that makes me sad.

But what has screwed me up the most is thinking that it could have been my sister.

I saw a photo floating around facebook before the names and ages of victims had been released.

It was of a girl. A teacher. She was young and smiling. Immediately I thought, “She can’t be much older than me.” The picture told the story of that teacher's last few moments on this earth. Upon hearing the gunshots she hid her students away in the cabinets and the closet of her classroom. When the shooter came in, she told him her students were in the gym. He shot her.

My sister is a teacher. I never thought of her teaching a class full of 4^th graders as something potentially dangerous. Crazy, sure. But dangerous, no.

I worry about my brothers. 3 out 4 of them are members of the military (the other is still far too young). One of them was a part of the last troop to leave Iraq. The potential danger in their jobs is obvious. They carry guns. They have to go to war zones when told.

But my older sister M is a teacher. She goes to school and deals with a gaggle of 9 year olds who talk back and forget to raise their hands and don’t know how to stand still in line (and I don’t blame them for that!). She spends her days teaching kids.

Kids she loves.

Kids who, if she were in the same position, I know she’d hide away in closets and cabinets.

And that scares me.

Because until Friday, I didn’t think to ever be scared. I didn’t know that that could even ever be something she’d be called to do.

I found out that teachers name was Victoria. She was 27.

The same age as my sister.

I’m sad about the children. My heart literally breaks for the parents because it’s something I could never fathom.

And I’m sad for those courageous, heroic teachers.

I’m especially sad for Victoria.

Because she could have been my sister.