I’m angry this morning. I’m sad and devastated and so far beyond discouraged there aren’t words. I’m weepy and chippy and sit-on-the-kitchen-floor broken.
Today, the world is overwhelming in its sadness and unfairness. I don’t know if it’s just the process of aging, or if it’s part of becoming a parent, or if it’s the hours and hours of counselling I worked through, but my sensitivity to the pain and brokenness in the world around me has increased a thousand fold over the last few years. And there are days like this when the weight of that pain is more than I can carry.
Sharlene is waiting for her Tim to come home. More than a thousand textile workers in Bangladesh will never go home again. Three Cleveland women and one child are trying to figure out how to go and be at home after years of forced imprisonment and assault. Every 17 minutes a Canadian woman is raped – 80% of these happen in their own homes. People who have shared my home are hurt and sick and lost in dark places. About 200,000 Canadians don’t have homes at all.
Swearing at the asshole who drove like a maniac through my son’s school parking lot this morning didn’t make it all better, but it did help to release some of the anger. Maybe writing and acknowledging the anger can act the same way? Because I know that these dark days have to be endured. And I also know that light will find its way into these days. It’s the cycle that shapes our lives.
And please, if you see anything that might help Tim get home to his family, pass it on.