The theater shooting happened just ten miles from my house.
My Facebook feeds tells of near misses - almost there but at a different theater or was going to go but didn't or knows someone who . . .
My girlfriend working a local television news room hasn't slept in days.
Another friend's son goes to school with two kids whose mom was killed.
A collegue of my husband's daughter was shot 3 times and lost her hand. Six of her friends were shot.
My eyelids just want to close. Sleep it away. Obviously, I need to turn off the television. I can only take so much.
I don't even know how to deal with this anymore. Like I normally do with stress, I try to work and not think about it.
For this blog, I look at my Google editorial calendar. My notes link to the PS22 Chorus, as a positive in education, maybe write about music education. I click through the links. It's the first time I've heard PS22's music. First, I'll listen. Then, I'll write.
On my screen, I watch these children, listening as their voices soar with emotion. And I'm crying now. The notes grab my sad, the pain I'm trying to ignore from the theater shootings. My soul needs this music. I can't explain, it just feels like hope.
Goosebumps zing up my arms.
There's a lump in my throat.
Today I am writing about the PS22 Chorus except I'm not. I'm just trying to make sense of something that doesn't make sense. I'm trying to go on, not ignoring what happened, but not dwelling in it either.
Maybe that's like music. Why it resonates so deeply through my senses, allowing my soul to feel everything. Maybe it doesn't make sense. Or even need to.
To my neighbors in Colorado, I hope you know that somebody loves you. I do. People around the world do.
To the PS22 Chorus and Mr. Breinberg, thank you for your gift. I hope you know that somebody loves you, too.
Sometimes when words are not enough, the music is.