Wednesday, August 15, 2012

My Little Nest

Last night I was awakened by fighting outside our bedroom window. I don't mean fighting like yelling about hurt feelings. I mean fight like the F-bomb being thrown around with punches and talk of being jumped and having bloody faces. And I think I heard something about a knife. I immediately dialed 911 and then ran around the house trying to close all the windows and shut out the noise. I accidentally caught an actual glimpse of the fighting and that image has been haunting me for 8 hours now.

I don't like fighting. In school when everyone else was running to the front of the circle to see the fight I was running to the principals office, or the nearest teacher, or whoever I thought could make it stop first. I don't like action movies. In a car crash scene in the movies I can't just focus on the cinematography or the narrow escape of the hero. I think about the people in those cars, and the injuries they sustain, and the families left behind. I don't like the thought of people being hurt. Ever. In any way. At all. So I don't watch action films. And rarely the news.

I am not immune to the fact that bad things happen. I am a social worker. At a children's hospital. I think that could be part of why I am so sensitive. I already see so much "sad", I don't want to expose myself to any more of it. Which made the sound of the fight drifting into my own bedroom, my own house where my babies are sleeping so upsetting. I felt so vulnerable. I wanted to shout to them that the police were coming to make it stop. But I didn't want to risk my own safety. Or that of my own babies. I hate that the world can be such a hard place sometime.

After I finished what I can agree was not a very calm and polite conversation with the 911 operator I turned on the radio to shut out the noise and watched until I actually saw the police car drive by to assure me I was safe. Then I went to each of my babies' beds and stroked their heads, grateful that they slept through the noise and were seemingly unaware that anything had happened.

After I spent some time reading and unwinding I laid down in bed and thought about my little home. And the big world around it. I have always believed that while I cannot protect my kids from the world at large that I could keep my own little nest safe from harm. Now I am wondering: Can I? It is such a dreadful thought. Such a vulnerable feeling. I couldn't handle that thought on top of everything else so I did what I do at those moments. I prayed. And as I was praying for all the children everywhere, and some specifically, and vowing that I would never intentionally hurt another one of God's children I drifted to sleep. And when I woke up my baby was cooing. My toddler was giggling. The world seemed happy. The night seemed surreal. My husband didn't mention it, reinforcing the question of its reality. And the day went on.

My little babies. My little nest. Placed in such a big world.  

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