I'm concerned about the world. There is devastation, destruction, hate and hurt bleeding from every nation. I have a baby. A small, innocent, pure, full of joy and personality of a baby. How do I protect her? When the riots become more violent, when the riots spread to where I live, when the natural disaster hits my town, will I be able to keep her safe? Or even alive? Since when was it courageous to be bloodthirsty?
I feel that I must say something, though my creditability in the area is lacking. I don't live in the South. I don't live in Baltimore. I don't live in Nepal. I am a white woman. But my heart aches. There are people starving to death waiting for help. Riots and rage roam the world, we are living in the dystopian world everyone writes about.
I don't see the baltimore mom how others see her. She parents different than I would parent but then again, I've never been in that situation so I don't know if I would react similarly. In words, I wouldn't want to stop my son from joining forces by hitting him. Combatting violence with violence doesn't seem to be sending the right message. To me, her actions are a desperate plea for him to turn around and realize she taught him better. I get that. Everyone who has gotten hurt, has a mother and most of the mothers are worried about them.
A woman that grew up in my neighborhood died in Nepal a few years back. Her plane flew right into the mountain. It is one of the most dangerous airports in the world. It has a tiny landing strip and a huge mountain not visible if there are any clouds but even more-so, there isn't a lot of access to the surrounding villages without the airport functioning. I hear the positive stories about how they have found a baby in the rubble, completely unharmed. What a miracle. But these stories are few and far between.
We praise people for standing up for what they believe in but what about when it negatively affects my family. The word "safe" and "world peace" gets a bad rap but in all honestly, why can't I desire that? Ever since I got pregnant, I have had an overwhelming weight of responsibility for my baby. I constantly have nightmares where I'm in a situation that I can't control the fact that she gets hurt. It is on my mind a lot. Then I've had a few emotional attacks. I will never feel like I'm doing enough for my child, so believe me I feel guilty on a daily basis from my own thoughts. Then this happens:
I knew it was a joke. But it destroyed me.
When is that ever funny?
Dave made a good point that this individual is a great example of the loud minority and even though there were so many positive comments and encouragement, I let the one sarcastic remark sting. That may be true but it doesn't mean that the words don't haunt me. Then, I think how silly it is that I care so much about a stupid comment on Facebook when there are so many bigger issues going on and know I tend to avoid conflict. Let it be known, I know the world is in distress and fear my insignificance will steal the basics I owe my family: safety, love and happiness.
