I write this as K sleeps next to me in bed. She was restless most of the night, chatting and squealing away while Joey and I fought migraines.
But you know? I have no complaints. I feel so fortunate.
Because hundreds of miles away, there is a group of parents who weren't up in the middle of the night with their children. Instead, they were up in the middle of the night grieving them. 20 innocent faces. Some of them surely in the midst of Hanukkah. Others awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. Now gone. Their hopes and dreams - their futures - now unreachable.
Hundreds of miles away, there is a group of surviving children - those who witnessed or heard the deaths of others. Those whose innocence will never be restored.
There are the families of the adult victims, the men and women who were there to nurture our young minds and hearts. Dead - many if not all of them in an effort to protects other children from becoming victims.
There are the teachers and other school officials, the police, the first responders... All heroes, but all witnesses to the carnage that took place yesterday morning. They held hands and dried tears, while trying to hold back tears of their own.
So today, I may be tired. But I will down that extra cup of coffee and keep going. I will hold K a little bit closer. Tell her again how much I love her. Because any day with her is a million times better than what the residents in Newtown are enduring at this moment.