Mom, what does a bomb do?

This question reverberated through my very being yesterday as I drove David and I to Downtown Disney. 
"Mom, what does a bomb do?"

The cold stark realization hit me that my child is growing up.  He'll be a  young man in not too many years from now.  Why does innocence have to flee so quickly.  And how do I answer that?  The thought of sharing any information on it with David hurt me.  I feel like it's the beginning of slow dismantle of innocent times of childhood that will never be recaptured.


"Well, they go off and hurt lots of buildings and people."

He takes a silent thoughtful moment.  His little brain is always working.  "What do bombs look like?"

"Hmmm..."  I really hate this conversation.  I suddenly want to be anywhere but there in the car having that conversation.  I don't really want him to know.  I hate the hurt in the world.  I hate war.  I hate that people have to die because someone else thinks they are right.  "Well, they can be small or big.  Short or long."

"Yeah.  You know, bad guys think bombs are good.  But they are not.  They are bad."  He's matter of fact with the statement, then looks back out the window and begins humming.

"That is exactly right David."  I then remember one of my favorite quotes.  'I long for a world where my children will never know the word, WAR.'


There is something deeply frightening and sorrowful when you truly know you're children will learn and hear things that are not full of love and laughter.  And that some things are beyond our control, and they can't be protected from everything. 

I remember back to when I was 13 years old back in the early 80s.  I don't remember details, but I remember there were some things going on between Russia and the USA and I would hear talk here and there at school about war.  The typical talk where you know it's the kids saying what they've heard their parents say.  I distinctly remember that evening, laying in bed and crying at the thought of war and life ending.  My mom came in to say good night and asked what was wrong.  I told her.  She reassured me and I felt so safe.  But I know her heart hurt too for me knowing that I was fearful and learning these things too.

I realize it's a part of life.  My faith plays a big part in calming my nerves.  But I will never deny that I would much rather have a world where all peaceful and my child would never even need to ask a question about bombs.  Never.  


Comments

  1. Ok, can I just say I seriously love love love reading your stuff. (I say that all the time, I know). Hahaha But wow. I love it! I read this blog post from someone talking about how her preteen had a mural of New York City and she noticed that her daughter, before going to bed everynight, would stand in front of the mural and just look at it for a while, and when she asked her daughter what she was doing, her daughter said that she was praying for all the people who were in those buildings because she knew they needed prayer just as much as her friends and family. I loved that!

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  2. Awww thank you Kelli <3 It's a tough thing right!

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