Karen Loftis Rankowitz

I am shocked, enraged, saddened beyond my ability to express, and unable to make sense of this despicable act. Any answers to the question, “why?” will never suffice and this depressing, dark reality makes me cry. I watch the faces of the children, as the news unfolds in a rush of chaos, and wonder if that little one knows her friend, or sibling, or teacher will not be with her tomorrow, or ever again. I cry for her and the finality of what took only moments for a madman to decide then execute. I see her tears and I weep too…for her life that has been detoured. I pray her journey to heal will be a short one with few scars and a heart that still feels like a little girl’s should. Tears sting the edges of my eyes and I try to hold them back. For whose sake, I don’t know, maybe for my own children’s. But then, they flow anyway for the boy who wanted to be a fireman, or a policeman when he grew up, but now will never be. Forever the age he was. I cry for this boy’s mother who will

My Dearest St. Nicholas,               As I get older, Santa, I have figured out that I want less of what costs the most.  I want less worry as that would dwindle away my well being. I want less stress so I don’t have to pay with my health. I want less anger so payment isn’t the cost of my loved ones’ peace. I want fewer arguments so feelings are spared the price of hurting. Santa, you don’t have to give me what is not possible. What I ask for instead are the tools to build a safe place somewhere in my mind and in my heart. Here is where I want you to give me freedom to choose between what is right and good and that, which is not. Give me hope and provide for me the strength to hold on to what is precious and a bit of courage to release what I know will tear me down. I like sunshine and warmth; not stormy weather. But when the clouds roll in on chilled, damp air, showing me where to find shelter would be kind, but letting me learn to build my own would probably be the b