I didn’t cry when Mufasa died in the Lion King until after I lost my grandma. I didn’t cry at weddings until after I got married. I didn’t cry about world events until after I had a daughter. Now I can’t stop crying.
Every drone strike and every natural disaster and every shooting death is a child. Whatever else defines one’s existence, a person’s first identity was as someone’s child. It is never okay to kill someone’s child.
With each horror story the lump in my throat grows larger and its dissipation is more prolonged. The lump may drain out through tears of mourning. It may erupt in a moment of anger. The best way to rid myself of the lump is to gather my two-year-old into my arms and inhale her scent.
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