2:26 A.M.

It is 2:26...no... wait...2:27 a.m. What am I doing awake? Well, a couple of things. On the surface, I'm sitting at the computer playing with every CD I can find and uploading them to itunes. In reality, I'm trying to tell myself that the news on the school attack in Russia isn't bothering me as much as it really is. My rational, American self is saying that it's half a world away and it could never happen here. But my emotional, spiritual side is saying screw that, who cares where it occurred and even if it never happens here, it still happened. I'm not one for seeing news stories and getting personally invested. Maybe this is bothering me more because Liam started kindergarten two weeks ago and we spent a morning in the cafeteria with all the other families taking part in the same beginning-of-school ritual. I'm finding myself more shaken by this story than I really care to admit.

Every time I see the photos or hear or read a news account, it's impossible to stop thinking that those women feel the same way about their children as I do about mine. That the crying woman waiting to see if her child is among the dead could easily be me, or Amy, or Ashley or Ailsa. We could be looking for our children, our sisters and brothers-in-law. I can't help but think that even those who did survive are not among the lucky. I can't imagine what that kind of violence does to a child. How they can possible see what they've seen and not lost their little minds altogether. My brain just can't get rid of the details - the woman who was released and brought her baby out then went back in to stay with her other three children who were not allowed to leave. And my brain knows how kids' minds work and I can't stop thinking "What if it had been Liam in there? If I hadn't been with him? Who would have comforted him and held him?". I'm not trying to be miserable over this. Somehow my "Mommy brain" just can't let go of it.

I just read a quote online regarding the new John Adams commission for the September 11th tribute. By all accounts it's almost paralyzing in it's power. Regarding the September 11th piece, someone wrote: "I guess for me, safe on the ground, I need to get as close to that kind of fear and suffering as I can, like I owe it to those people. Does that make sense?". I guess my anger tonight is my brains's way of paying my condolences to those involved in Russia. I want to be able to turn away from it, but that seems like it would diminish it in some way. I'm remembering back when Rusty and I saw "The Passion of the Christ" and thinking "maybe I don't want to see this". But seeing it seems to make more an impression to me than anything, my mind seems to take in and work on visuals more than any other medium. And I felt the same way about the movie. It was so uncomfortable to watch. But I felt I had to. If Christ went through it, I could at least make myself see what it may have really been like (as opposed to the totally clean, blond Christ-on-the-cross paintings I remember from the church nursery when I was little).

So here I am, uploading music and come across "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. How I wonder how totally wrong can that song be? I'm angry. Not just because of the children and adults that died over the last two days. I'm angry about the whole mess.

I'm the first to admit that some of this anger would probably dissapate if I stopped listening to Alanis Morissette as I write this ("Jagged Little Pill" is a wonderful screaming album. Love it. If that makes me a heathen, so be it.). I tried switching to my "God music" play list but couldn't get into it. I told myself I didn't have to "feel" it, but still. I wanted to scream and seeing as how it's the middle of the night, I just switched back to Alanis and let her do it for me. Yay, Alanis. I mean, really, what does Alanis have to scream about? Her boyfriend jilting her or possibly her lack of understanding the meaning of the word "ironic"? Maybe she's just now realizing she dated Dave Coulier? I dunno. I'm all for yelling like a maniac when you're hurting inside, and I'm sure it's done her a world of good to get it out (and make some money for it). But it's been almost fun to sit and listen to her yell and pretend I'm mad about something as normal and sane as a break-up.

I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow. But that bothers me. I don't want to get to a place where I'm able to distance myself from the pain that others feel. In this situation, empathy has been a motivator for me to pray - both the ones who've been lost and those they left behind.

We'll see if I still need Alanis in the morning.