A poignant reminder of this day, 7 years ago.

I listened to NPR for much of the morning today, listening to new and old accounts of this tragic day in history. As my sweet little boy slept for his afternoon nap I made my way around our garden and yard harvesting and spot watering and checking on seedlings and baby chickens. On my way back into the house to check on him I found his little fire truck, half buried in the dirt, and it stopped me. I stared at it for a bit and thought about how every living being was at one point a pure and innocent child. Someone's CHILD. Just as Colven is mine. The hope I have for him, his world and his life swirls through every cell of my body. Every person is the child of another, as well as perhaps a spouse, a parent, a sibling. Somehow Colven makes life more relevant, and the understanding and compassion for the loss of others more tangible and less abstract. In that I mean the loss ALL others experience, regardless of where in the world they may live. All of us lose, everyone suffers. Tragedy is universal.

Humans grow to be simultaneously beautiful and monstrous, tragic and triumphant, peaceful and pugnacious.

Each trait is an irony to the other.
Each moment a beginning and an end.
Each perception individual.