On Friday we had a virtual write-in, when a fellow Wrimo form France came in.  She was panicky and telling us she had heard gunshots in her neighborhood.  We hadn’t seen the news then or anything, but soon it was clear what was going on.  The mood for writing was gone, and everyone was taken back.  Even today I seem to have a hard time to find my normal writing pace.  Yesterday I only did 75 words or so.

I had a long conversation about how it impacted us.  And why it might leave a bigger stamp than something that happens much farther from home.  And some might think it’s hypocrite, and others might find it normal.    I just wanted to hug my children.  France seems very close, and I can’t imagine how people feel.  What I can tell you, is that when i imagined something like that happening close to me and my family I could not hold back the tears.

I do not understand, do not want to understand, the reason why someone wants to hurt others so badly they would even kill themselves.  To me it’s not a matter of religion of belief, it a matter of humanity.  And yes, that does mean not only for France but also all the other places that have been hurt badly,..  I just don’t understand

What hit me even harder, was the pace I used, to move past it.  Trying to shove the bad feelings an sour taste in the back of my mind, by writing.  Ten years ago I might have been standing on top of a barricade, yelling, shouting.  Now I just want my family, my children not to have to see this pain.  And I could hear people (in my mind) calling me a hypocrite, a useless adult.  But the realization is that I am probably both.  I am no racist, but scared of what might happen.  I’m trying to teach my children love an peace, while I’m telling my boyfriend that some people, where better of never being born.  And I hate myself for it.

This will be the one and only time I will be writing about what happened, cause, I will do not fear to feel fear, but I will not give in to it. I do not  like to judge, for I have been judged too many times.  Or something, ….

Wordcount 35601