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Hand Sweat

My toes gripped on to the bottoms as my feet slid wildly in my boots. I walked down my street with a sense of urgency. I needed to be there.

I blew past the crossing guard who had barely enough time to get out of the warmth of her car.

“I’ll catch you when you come back,” she shouted.

I crossed the road and made my way around the corner. I could see that there were more cars parked in the culdesac than usual. Perhaps they needed to be there as much as I did.

From the same path we walk through everyday, lined with lost art and snack wrappers, I could see the parents at the fence. I took my usual spot next to the Mom of triplets and caught my breath.

She smiled at me, clutching her 1 year old tightly.

The parent banter was almost silent. You could hear shoes as they scuffed the pavement. Zippers zipped and unzipped. Sniffles and quiet coughs.

Then we heard the thunderous giggles and screams and laughter from around the corner of the school. I waited impatiently to see Chunky’s red toque.

Each class was let out one at a time. Each child was released one at a time. I watched as parents grabbed their children and squeezed them with every thing they had.

When I saw his red tassels, I was finally able to breath.

“He has the best smile,” E said.

As Mrs. K gave him a high five and he began to run right towards my open arms.

I knelt down beside him and hugged him until he couldn’t breath because some Mom won’t ever have this opportunity again.

I held onto his hand tightly as we walked home.

I told him that I loved him, then he smiled and said, “I love you too. You’re making my hand sweat.”


I can’t stop thinking that there is a Mom who lost their child.

There are no words that will make this horrible tragedy any better.

My heart goes out to all of those affected  by the school shooting and for the souls of those innocent babes. 



  1. I’ve been fighting sadness ever since this happened —

  2. I think all Moms hugged their babies more tightly since Friday.
    Chunky has the most beautiful smile. Just like yours.

  3. I have been hurting so badly since Friday. And am again in tears. I fussed at my 5 year old this morning. I hugged her and kissed her after, but there is a weight in my soul…

  4. I hugged my big baby that tightly, too. And I keep telling him how much I love him. And telling him to be careful when he leaves. And fighting that overwhelming sadnessFortunately, he understands.

  5. I can’t…I have no words. I’m just here. Staring at nothing.

  6. Mamaintheburbs Mamaintheburbs

    I had a hard time dropping my daughter off at preschool yesterday too. I kept squeezing her and kissing her! And when I picked her up I held her extra tight. This tragedy has been so hard for everybody. I can’t imagine the parents of these children. It breaks me heart! Thank you for the post. I know I’m not alone.

  7. Janet Janet

    What others have said here, “fighting off sadness”, is a good way of expressing what I have been feeling about what happened to these children. On Friday, the day of the shooting, I was pretty much bottomed-out with depression. I, too, kept thinking of the parents and how they would go on –

    I know that so many who read this blog, and of course, you, Kim, have children who are the age of those who were in the class that was attacked in Newtown. This must be so difficult for you, for that reason. I know in my own mind, I don’t see my son as the adult he is (since this occurred), but as the little 6-year-old boy with the Dutch-boy haircut who was in 1st grade.

    I wish health and smiles for all your children,


  8. It’s just awful. Just so tragic.

  9. Damn it. Here I go again. Crying. Because I know exactly how you (and many others) feel. I’m so sick of crying… But I can’t help it. And I have my babies. Senseless and tragic. ((Hugs.))

  10. The whole situation is unimaginable … The only good that could possibly come out this situation is a major shift in US gun legislation!
    The families most affected by this tragedy will never be the same. My heart goes out to them!

  11. I can’t imagine the pain of those families….

  12. I think you’ll understand what I mean when I say that I can hardly deal with this tragedy. I’m not ignoring it or in denial but I can’t read much about it or watch much on TV. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, and if I focus on the true magnitude of this event, I will fall off.

  13. I’m really struggling with this.
    I’m hugging my daughter tighter

  14. I can’t help but think of the timing and how those parents were sure to have presents bought never dreaming their child wouldn’t be there to open them. If I allow myself to really think about it, I will not be able to stop the tears. I can’t even imagine…For that reason, I will hug my babies because I can and I will try and make this world a better place because I don’t know what else to do.

  15. I’m hugging mine tighter because I can. They’re here. And safe. And I cannot even begin to imagine what those poor families are going through.

  16. Same here. All of it.

  17. I know this is not the point, but Chunky’s comment was so funny. When all around is black, we need to focus on light (when all around is death, we need to focus on life).

  18. Did you get my e-mail? Is it safe to send more?

  19. This is beautiful and so is your boy!!!!

  20. I can’t imagine how hard it was for parents to take their children to school. I hugged and hugged my little girl and just kept her by my side. I even let her sleep with us once or twice. So very sad.

  21. I’m glad you held onto to that little boy and held him close. They are a treasure and there are no words for this horrible tragedy. Thinking of you!!

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