I know I'm a grown-up now. A thirty-three year old wife and mother. Am I still allowed to write you a letter? May I please cling to a Christmas wish?
I wish for the innocence of the past. I wish for sunny days where children play alone in their backyards, not fearing for their safety, not having to be hovered over every minute of the afternoon. I wish for anxiety-free giggles during unsupervised neighborhood bike rides.
I wish for something, anything, to bring a tiny bit of peace to the Georgia family who lost their little girl last Friday. I followed her story since I first heard she was missing. I shed tears when I learned of the horrific end to her life. I found myself smugly satisfied when a suspect was detained. And then I got angry. Furious that a child was tortured and robbed of her life. She was playing at the playground in her own apartment complex. How many people can comfortably call that home now? I wish for justice. For many hearts to heal.
How do you explain murder to the friends of this 7-year old girl? Or to her two younger sisters?
My wish? Cannot be wrapped in a box with a bow.
I wish for my childhood dreams to come back again. I wish for safety and love for every child on this earth.
Merry Christmas, Santa.
I'll keep one eye open for you on Christmas Eve.
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Here is a link to this awful news story: Jorelys Riviera. Hug your loved ones tight today. And keep your eyes on them... always. My prayers and condolences to this family and all Jorelys' friends.
