In the almost month since the terror attacks in Paris, Asa has developed nightmares. He dreams of bad people breaking into our home and shooting us. Bad people coming to his school.
California shooting happens and I’m struggling to teach my son that not all people are bad. Not all Muslims are bad people. I believe this in my core. Not all Muslims are bad. Not all Christians are bad. Not all atheists are bad.
My little man that would run this little farm, night and day, will not take a shower without someone in there with him. He locks doors. All the time. He is glue to my side.
His innocence has been robbed. Irrevocably. He never will look at the world without a sense of fear.
My ex husband who lives in Plainfield, near the largest Islamic center in North America, lets my boys run the town without any idea of who they are with or where they are at.
I’m worried. Worried that somehow something could happen, likely near where Carey lives simply because there has been an arrest for an Isis connection there since November. Yet, carey tells Asa that I’m at risk at my hospital and that my little farm is because it’s secluded. Why would you tell your terrified child this?
I tell Asa I will move the world to keep him safe. And we are safe at home. He is safe at school. That many people love him and we will all keep each other safe. Jason carries, I carry and Isaiah wants to start to carry. Asa knows gun safety.
I just pray that I’m telling my son the truth. That we can all band together with enough love to overcome all the hate in our world.
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