Anticipating a few days at our lake house with one son and his family, I’ll spend a good part of today scurrying around collecting items we need, shopping and cooking. I’m envisioning our activities together and smile.
I’m thinking also about other grandmothers.
I’m thinking too about grandfathers, and mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, brothers and sister and cousins.
About those girls kidnapped in Nigeria since April.
About the Syrian and Iraqi families displaced by civil unrest for whom home is a refugee camp. About Israelis and Palestinians divided by war, sending children to fight their neighbors.
About Michael Brown’s family in Ferguson, Missouri, and those of other gunshot victims.
I’m thinking about other peoples’ children around the nation and the world.
And I have no words.