We went to the pediatrician this week. Dallas got some vaccines, which were uncomfortable but didn't phase him too much; Charlotte sobbed and sobbed as she watched. Oh dear.
The big excitement came as we were exiting from the hospital section of the medical complex. As we were walking out, I noticed a big hullabaloo brewing. One of the candy stripers (is it still pc to say that?) was running out the door as another shoeless woman was not far behind her. They were both headed toward a screaming woman (a mom? auntie? grandma?) who was saying "They said he got shot. Where is he? Where IS he? Where'd he get shot?" (In the arm and the side, evidently) "Who shot him? Is he dead?"
It was the briefest of scenes but it was so jolting to me. Thankfully the five year old was not in tow, as he would have picked up on what was going on. Charlotte was blissfully unaware.
In the loading zone out front were two parked police cars, one with lights still flashing.
You are never going to believe this ~ oh wait, my readers in general hear it all so you probably ARE going to believe this ~ I just looked up the crime log for that day and the shooting happened on a street that borders the medical complex. Right there. RIGHT THERE!
Anyway, as I said, it was rather jarring for me. I'm still thinking about it. I hear all the baloney those cops out there on the front lines deal with on a regular basis. I hear it with a jaded, bitter slant from one of those cops himself. But there is nothing like seeing the look on a mom's face that says "Is my child dead or alive?"
I don't care what kind of crap adults my children turn out to be (although I pray they do not actually turn out to be crap adults); I will always, always, always have that look of "Is my child dead or alive?" on my face when I hear something terrible has happened to him or her. That's the kind of heart I have as I hear the stories my husband brings home to me on a regular basis. The heart that thinks, "At one time, that person was a child..."
12 hours ago