Innocence

When I was first accosted by the horrific images of the Haiti earthquake, I wanted to scream. Very loud and for a very very long time. I had the same reaction as I sat on my couch and watched the news of terrorist planes flying into the World Trade Center towers on Sept. 11, 2001. After the initial urge to scream in both cases, naturally the tears flowed.
As I watched the victims of this quake parade before my eyes, my son Balin laughed and played on the living room floor beside me and my husband. Since I became a new mother almost a year ago, I think I finally understood in that moment  for maybe the first time what childhood innocence is all about.
Balin was spared the pain of the images and meaning behind them because he was too young to understand this or any atrocity in life. He would not comprehend the pain of knowing that thousands of victims  would have to have a limb amputated without anesthesia, or know what it’s like to stand in line two hours for one meal.
And for that, I envied my son.

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