Mondays are usually for picture posts, something short and sweet and simple for me to put on the blog on busy Monday mornings. But this is not a typical Monday morning. It is a Monday morning swathed in the shadows of unnecessary death and grief.

There are so many things to be said, but the most important thing to be said right now is this: I grieve. I grieve for the loss of young, innocent life, at Sandy Hook Elementary School, and anywhere else children are senselessly killed at the hands of adults.

We try to tell ourselves that monsters hide in our nightmares and haunt us only in the darkest hours, even though we know this is not true. Monstrosity hides in the depths of the human heart; we all know it, and most of us are capable of controlling it. But sometimes the illusion is shattered, and we find that it takes but one dark, monstrous heart to bring destruction upon us. No matter how it reveals itself – whether in the terrorizing of one person or in the massacre of two dozen – we are reminded that monsters are closer than we think.

My hope for this Monday is that we deal with the monsters in our own hearts and remind ourselves that light can fight the dark. I’m not going to play the role of an armchair expert. I’m not a professional psychologist. I’m not a forensic investigator. I know very little about current gun law. I have my opinions, but I don’t believe this is the place to air them. Besides which, they are only my opinions, based only on my observations and beliefs. They are not going to change the outcome of what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary on Friday.

This blog is a place for my grief, and so here I will grieve. I know how it is to lose a child, but I cannot imagine the pain a mother endures when her child is taken from her so violently. But still I grieve, and still I do my best to guard against the fear and the sorrow that have become such an ever-present part of my life.

And I will do what I have been trying to do for the past fifteen months – I will try to live my life as the best person I can be: shattered by grief, held together only by the fragile but tenacious presence of a hope for a better future.