I haven’t written about the tragedy of Uvalde until now. My heart was too broken, too numb. 

Our whole country is that way right now: broken and numb, standing in the rubble of two separate sides: those who haven’t yet been touched by gun violence and those of us who have. 

Me, I sit on a screened porch surrounded by the symphony of bird song, while four states away, an entire town howls in anger and grief, their elementary school still roped in crime scene tape.

Two separate sides. 

One week ago, 19 children were still alive,  dressing for church or playing with siblings or sleeping-in beneath security blankets with soft pillows for their heads. And now… now their heads rest on morgue trays, their parents sleepless. Medicated. Mourning. Desperate with grief. 

Their siblings and friends are hollow and haunted. 

Their teachers are dead. Families, broken. A husband’s heart cracked open so wide, it spilled him over to the other side. Broken beyond repair. 

Me… my children have just climbed from bed, eager for Sunday pancakes. We celebrated a dance recital last night; graduation ceremonies last week, Memorial Day festivities tomorrow.

Two separate sides. 

Me, too numb to write, taking time to sort through my thoughts and breathe. While the children of Uvalde had no time to think. No more time to breathe.

Two separate sides.

 Our country is cracked wide open and on two separate sides. 

The side horrified and outraged about innocent lives lost, and the side horrified and outraged about potential rights lost.

Our country is broken – cracked down the middle.

The horror! the outrage! — when the deaths of 19 fourth graders and 2 dedicated teachers can trigger a rally cry to save guns instead of children.

Oh, how broken and numb, we truly are.