searching for answers.

It's no secret that even our country's toughest leaders have shed tears in the aftermath of the tragic Sandy Hook shooting. First responders, police officers, political leaders and parents (who, even at age 26, I still believe are some our country's strongest leaders) were photographed in tears, hugging one another, embracing loved ones and hoping that the next hug, the next tear, or the next grief-stricken moment would provide some kind of clarity on how something like this could ever happen. Rob and I sat on the couch Friday night in the dark, watching the constant coverage before I finally burst into tears. It's just too much, I thought. I don't even know these people, and I never will, but I somehow feel so emotionally charged and connected to them right now and I have no idea why.

The obvious answer is because these victims are children. These are the kids who had the lemonade stand at the corner house all summer, the girl who sold you girl scout cookies, and the boy who just learned to ride his bike without training wheels. These are the kids who put cookies out for Santa, who believe there are elves hiding in the school tree that know if they've been naughty or nice in the halls (a brilliant line my best friend and excellent kindergarten teacher came up with for her classroom). These are kids who will now never have first kisses or dates, never walk down the aisle and say "I do," never have the chance to become the next president, an astronaut or teacher. These are parents - some my own age - who are grasping at nothing in the air, trying to make sense out of how they can send their child to school in the morning and go Christmas shopping for that child all day and now wonder what they're going to do with those wrapped presents stowed away in the back of the closet. This is us - you and me - our kids, our neighbors, our families.

And I know this isn't the first time something like this has destroyed a community. This isn't the first time we've been shocked to turn our televisions and see innocent people gunned down in schools, in movie theaters and malls across America. So why is it hitting so close to home this time? Is it just because they're kids? Is it because we, as Americans, have had enough? Is it because it's so close to the holidays, and we've heard stories from teachers and other survivors about how these kids were crying, saying they just wanted to have Christmas?

I should probably note that I am not directly affected by this horrible incident. No one I know was hurt, killed or suffered as a result of this selfish boy's actions. And I'm no expert. I have no psychology degree, no statistics of what access to guns can do or what the lack of access to mental health resources can lead to. I'm you. I'm the girl who was sitting at the office and happened to open up Yahoo and see very few details about a shooting at an elementary school on the east coast. I am the one who was glued to the television all night, who called friends and family and talked about how horrible it was that this could have happened. I'm the one who went home and hugged my dogs and my fiance, just like everyone else did. Just like every other person in this country, I am looking for answers, for understanding, and I am hurting more for these people and these families than I've ever hurt for any other tragedy in this country. I don't know all the details on the shooter's mental health, or the stability of his family or his access to guns (other than that his mother had several), and I really have no desire to argue a political agenda.

But as a person with a beating heart, who loves the hell out of my family, my friends, my dogs and wants nothing but the same for everyone else, I am distraught. I can't begin to imagine what the parents of those children are feeling, but I do know that this massacre has shattered not only their sense of safety, but the rest of ours as well. I can't understand why anyone would ever look towards murder as a way to solve life's problems, but I can at least put my mind around a high school kid getting pissed off enough about being bullied, cheated on by his girlfriend or wronged by the jerks on the football team enough to seek retaliation. It doesn't make it right, but to a society so immune to violence and revenge, the logic behind something horrible like that at least makes sense to us on some level. But this doesn't.

These are our kids. These are our nieces and nephews, these are teachers we graduated with who spend 90% of their time awake making lesson plans for five and six year old kids who then go home every day and tell Mom and Dad what they did at school today. This wasn't my neighborhood, but it could have been. This wasn't my best friend's school, but it could have been. Everywhere today, there are students nervous to go to school, there are parents who struggle to find the appropriate explanation for their first grader, there are teachers on edge to see police officers roaming the halls, and there are grieving parents, brothers, sisters and families. But there are also millions of Americans whose sense of safety has been shattered. This kid (and yes, he was a kid), broke into our lives and stole our sense of stability. He made the "it won't happen to me" possible for the rest of us, and parents across the country are wishing they didn't have to send their children to school today. He made me spend my weekend always looking around the corner, startled at loud conversation or crying kids in stores in the mall, and made me prepare, as I made the long trek out to my car at the mall on Saturday, what I'd do if for whatever reason I found myself in a similar situation.

The Sandy Hook shooting broke into our lives during the most wonderful time of the year and tried to steal what was left of our sense of humanity (as if rude holiday shoppers hadn't shattered it enough). But despite all that, and despite the 15 minutes of fame that the God forsaken media is giving him, he's also sparked something else in us: conversation. Conversation about mental health, something that's been brushed under the rug and pushed to the outskirts of society for decades. Conversation about the importance of listening to our teachers, following rules and the importance of saying, "I love you." Across the country, students are bringing in cards to their teachers with notes of appreciation, and tired teachers want nothing more than to hug each and every one of their students and remind them how important they are.

It's not perfect. And the bad outweighs the good, without any doubt. But for one second, we've started a conversation about one of the most taboo things in the country: mental health. We've put aside our political viewpoints on taxes and the fiscal cliff and have come together as a country in mourning. And we've remembered, once again, how important our educators are, how important our children are, and how desperately necessary it is to preserve hope, life and education in the lives of the people who will one day be in charge of this country. My heart hurts. I don't understand it, and I so desperately want to. But I know I never will, and I know that the families of those affected will struggle harder and longer than I can even imagine. So I will do the only thing I can do: pray, and send a Christmas card to the elementary school.