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When Being a Parent Means Bearing Brutally Bad News

My generation is no stranger to witnessing horrible moments in human history. We remember where we were when the Challenger exploded. Many of us were watching it on live TV. I was in 9th grade AA Civics, listening to a kid give a speech on air safety when the principal broke over the intercom with the news.

When the Columbine massacre occurred, I was a young mom of two very small kids. I watched it unfold on television, stunned how children could commit atrocities aimed at other children. On 9/11, I was home with three small ones and pregnant with our fourth baby. As they spent the day parked in front of Nick Jr. and the Disney Channel, I was in an adjoining room watching the towers fall. When they came to me for snacks and diaper changes, I’d turn the small TV toward the wall. They were too young to see, too young to understand. Heck. I still don’t understand.

I wondered what kind of a world my unborn baby would be born into.