Another Sunday morning. I was looking forward to my older son bringing over his girlfriend for brunch, and then attending an afternoon barbecue at a friends’ house celebrating their daughter’s graduation. Orlando wasn’t in my head at all.
Instead I wake up to yet another American tragedy. The new is beyond awful. After I watch for a few minutes my husband takes the remote from me and changes the channel. “You know all the facts they have. Stop watching now, because I can tell you’ve had all you can handle.” He knows my empathetic nature will not stop soaking up misery until it comes out in tears.
Still, how simple it is for me to change the channel. It’s not my life. I’m not checking my texts for a child who won’t be coming home. I don’t have to drive into town and wait, crying and praying, with others waiting for more than a day to find out if my child, friend, partner, is alive or dead.
So easy for me.
So, I’ll be angry, sad, outraged. I’ll take a few minutes to make a graphic showing my support of the LGBT community. I might change my avatar on Facebook. I might share a few articles that sum up my feelings. But then what?
What will we do now? What will we DO?