My weekend with my family was exhausting and I woke up this morning feeling as though I’d been running in my sleep.
On Saturday, we attended a protest in a major city about two hours away from ours and we brought our kids with us. It’s not something I ever thought I’d do–bring my kids along to a gathering that might get a certain kind of “colorful”, that is–but when my husband and I thought it through, it made sense to us to introduce them to our values in this way. It wasn’t without trepidation that we loaded the car before the sun came up and headed on the highway.
When we arrived at our destination, we noticed that the crowd was huge already, though we’d gotten there early, and it continued to swell before our eyes as the morning went on. There were hecklers, people who screamed obscenities at us with wide, angry eyes, and the kids looked at us as if to ask, “Is this how it is?”
And it is, sometimes.
In the end, we heard and saw things we can never unknow, though a part of me wishes we could for the sake of our happiness. I don’t know how to process heavy things except through words (and sometimes inconvenient tears) so I commend to you these lines.