Newtown

When Priscille and I first heard of the horrific murders which took place at the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, the name immediately struck a chord.
 
Newtown, I remembered, is a location that we pass through when we travel to New England.  Part of our route crosses the Nutmeg State in a northeasterly direction, as we connect with Interstate 84 near Danbury.
 
On the way back home, we simply reverse direction, enter Connecticut from the Mass. Pike, and hook up with I-84 south towards Hartford.   
 
Every single time on those trips, we pass over a highway bridge bearing a sign announcing Newtown.  Deep below courses a narrow, dark blue stream dotted with homes along its shoreline.  
 
And every single time that we make that crossing, I resolve to look up the name of that quiet natural wonder far below in the valley.  And every single time, I forget.
 
But after hearing of the unspeakable tragedy which struck Newtown in a way that leaves me unable to find adequate adjectives to describe the horror of that attack on helpless children and educators, I discovered through Google Earth that Priscille and I had been driving over the Housatonic River.  It winds its way through Newtown just a few miles north of the Sandy Hook Elementary School. . .

. . . Somehow, we are all connected in this life, even with people that we don’t know, that we will never meet, in towns that we have never seen, and in other places that we will never set foot.

 
Yet, a week ago today, we have come to know a little about the people of Newtown – not because we have heard of their names; and certainly not because we can personally even begin to fathom the profound depth of their personal loss and of the deeply emotional damage unjustly inflicted upon that entire community.
 
I think that Americans feel a sense of connection to Newtown because of the magnitude of the heinous crime. Our compassion reaches out, and our humanity becomes intertwined with that of the families of Newtown, as they face a long period of grieving and of unremitting loss that will alter the course of their lives.
 
Except for a coincidence of fate – it could have happened here in Bridgewater, New Jersey.
 
I believe it’s why we hear the ubiquitous sentiment, “Hug your child today” expressed so fervently across America.   One way or another, all of us are ineffably connected.
 
I’ll never cross that bridge again without recollecting the horrendous day of December 14^th, 2012, without a silent prayer for the community of Newtown, Connecticut.
 
NOTE:  Click on this link to read a compellingly poignant story by Washington based BBC journalist, Kaelyn Forde, who was assigned to cover the story of the Newtown massacre, her place of birth.  It is the best account that I have come across – I think you may agree.