when our hearts hurt

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I saw the news last night, just as I was going to bed.  I couldn’t process it.  The idea that someone targeted children, that someone hated with such violence that they would purposely walk into a crowd of children to detonate a device that would maim and kill seemed impossible, not believable.

So much of our “news” these days is filled with hyperbole and false fire, used as a tactic to win the attention of our click-baited fingers and eyes, that something like this gives you pause.  You have to read and re-read to be sure that what you’re seeing is true and not another exaggerated half-story filled with half-truths and creative lies.

But then, when you get past the shock, get past the disbelief, what is left?

Pain.  Heartbreak.  And if those of us who were not there, those of us who don’t know anyone who was there feel these things, how much worse must it be for those who survived, those who were there and somehow walked out on their own two feet, those who dropped off their children earlier in the evening, only to never see them again?

This is what comes when our governments foster hatred and subsidize xenophobia. The hate spreads out, like a disease.  It foments and ferments.  It grows and eats into the hearts of those who incubate it.

My heart burns with the loss.

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