I spent a lot of time touching McK this weekend. I felt the need to have my hand on her somewhere, essentially at all times, over this past set of days. She and I have always been very cuddly, always very loving, and I think if I told her I loved her any more than I already do it would be all I said in a day. But this last little while, with what has happened in the US, even the slightest touch of her soft skin was a necessary part of any waking moment for me.
I have not been able to watch the news. I cannot, right now anyway, bear witness to the grief and sadness in all of those families and not be a broken mess. I can still barely bring myself to watch any 9/11 documentaries because all I see when I do is loss. I could not stomach the idea that when I was getting McK ready to go to school on Monday, 20 other families would not be doing the same, even though they JUST DID on Friday.
I am not the type to say “go home and hug your kids” after a tragedy such as this because I am a firm believer that you should not need a reminder to do that. I can’t fathom a day where I do not smother my girl in love, or tell her how amazing I think she is, or stroke her hair out of her face as she falls asleep. And I do not know what I would do with myself if I didn’t get to do that, every day, whenever my heart felt compelled to do so.
I am blessed. I am lucky. I am thankful.