We were in a little limbo we call up state New York. Only
half hour away yet a completely different world. A cocoons of sorts that doesn’t
smell, look or feel like New York, and as such provides a cleansing effect on
the senses. We were sleeping at a friends house and had stayed up too late
catching up on life’s little happenings over one too many bottles of wine. I
was woken up by their youngest who, in a sweet, soft, quiet voice was saying “it’s so sad. So, so, so, so sad”
At the time my main concern was that one of mine might have
caused the sadness. So I dutifully got
up to take part in the matter. I never got to find out what had happened nor
who was responsible. Yet these days I often find myself hearing his soft spoken
words in my head: “It’s sad. So, so sad”. There was something about the
quietness and softness in which he said it that was able to really communicate
the full emotion of the statement. There was a certain amount of defeat and
acceptance that made it even sadder. If it were a photograph, I would use it to
show others what “sad” feels like. But it was a sound, so I struggle to define
it.
Often these days, dealing with the heart ache of the meangirl infestation, I find myself
muttering those same words, softly and quietly inside my head. Because nothing
can better describe the feeling that not being able to protect my daughter instils
in me. Not being able to lift her burdens. Smack her oppressors. Come flying in
and saving her from the pain. It just
makes me sad. So, so sad.