A Blog Post No One Asked For

It’s been a gutting and emotionally draining few days. Images of families, particularly mamas with their little ones, fleeing their homes, fleeing for their lives, are weighing on my heart and mind. It’s not fair. I’m an ocean away. Nothing I do will make it right.

But life goes on right? We have deadlines and dinner and kids to take to robotics tournaments. Smash those emotions down. Put them on your shelf of questions to take up with the Universe/Higher Power/God when it’s your turn for an audience.


Yeah, it doesn’t work that way. Not for me. People have edges, and modern life pushes us to walk as close as we can to ours. And then when we stumble and fall, modern life wags a finger in our face and tells us it is our own fault. Boundaries. Self care. You should know better. What were you thinking?


Another image capturing the unfairness of all of it, pushed me over my edge on Friday.


Ensue plummet to rock bottom… Except Mr. Trent caught me.
I cried ugly tears at my kitchen counter. “They’re kids. They’re the same age as our son.”
Mr. Trent pulled me away from my computer into a hug. “I know.”
“It’s not fair.”
He held me close. “It’s not.”
I cried as my hubby walked me up stairs. I cried as he turned on the water. I cried in my hot shower.
He was there offering more comfort when I was ready.
Mr. Trent and I have been together for eons. We flex the left-brain meets right brain, opposites attract trope. Analytical pragmatist (him) meets empathic creative (me). It’s hot. We dig it even two kids and sixteen years of marriage later.
As you might suspect Mr. Trent and I have wildly different tastes when it comes to entertainment, but something that I’ve always loved about Mr. Trent is that he is willing to watch anything with me. Foreign films ( check, check, check). Shakespeare (check, check). Star Trek (not enough space for all the boxes he’s checked). Moody period dramas (check). Stuff I hear reviewed on NPR (this gem stands out).
This weekend, and especially after his leading hero moment of bringing me back from the edge, I wanted to return the favor. I snuggled in and watched a movie with Mr. Trent from his queue featuring his favorite big screen bro, and afterwards I teased him.
“Are you going to hide love letters to me in your code? Leave notes about how much you like my smile?”
“No, Amy. There are rules.”
“What about my [redacted].”
 “That would get me fired.” But it did make him laugh.


I love Mr. Trent. He’s my home and safe place in the storm. It is maddening that a matched donation, tears, hopes/prayers, and conversations are all we’ve got to throw at the hurt and suffering. It’s gutting for both of us to think of the families that are displaced, sheltering, and suffering. I feel guilt and shame that my life marches on, and includes such luxuries as a quiet movie night at home with Mr. Trent after the kiddos go to bed.


All this to say we’re trying, we’re listening, and we’re holding each other close.

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