It's a very different world Mr Madison...

I was just one of many mothers around the world on Saturday 15th December 2012 that happened to switch on the news. I was one of thousands, if not millions, that listened with increasing horror and disbelief as reporters told us of 20 children and 6 adults shot by a suicidal gunman in Newtown, Connecticut.

I'm certain I wasn't alone in holding my little boy and telling him how much I loved him almost obsessively through the days that followed.

I am absolutely not alone in being one of many many people that have, and continue to search for a way to deal with it. It may be a need for 'answers', a need to feel 'safe', a need to be someone who helps in some small way, or just a Mother's need to 'arm' myself against this eventuality ever EVER applying to my family.

Some part of me knew that this would be an impossible task. I didn't even really know 'why' I was doing all this obsessive research, -and it's fair to assume that one is unlikely to find 'the answer' when one can't even formulate 'the question'.

The closest I could get was 'why?'.

Why what Cath? 

Why did that particular man choose to vent his frustrations on tiny children and teachers?

Why does the second amendment still exist?

Why do the NRA and [Republican] Americans hold to their 'right to bear arms' as obsessively as they hold to the Bible?

Why do people still insist that arming everyone (including teachers) is a BETTER option than doing away with guns entirely?

Why are a huge amount of people still petitioning God to come and save America instead of doing something?

I assure, this is only a very very small selection of the questions that have been on my mind. 

I pored over the second amendment (and its various commentaries) forever. . . And knew that once again, the same twisted voices would say, Oh, this had nothing to do with gun laws or the misuse of the Second Amendment or anything except some singular madman, of whom America for some reason seems to have a particularly dense sample.

I considered the definition of 'militia' both now and in the late 1700's. I pondered the psychology of a nation founded against the invading forces of British and French colonialists in conjunction with violent and bloody aboriginal conflict. 

I considered the social ramifications of a country still at war with various world nations, at the glorification of the 'Military', the reverence with which Americans and Australians treat their fallen Soldiers, the poetry of war, the clarity and 'peace' that many soldiers find through killing.... I wondered again about the prevalence of violence on our movie and game-screens and how much and what is filtering through the minds of our young ones.

I fielded voices as diverse as Morgan Freeman and Julie Bishop. I realised that I did in fact have some respect for John Howard and the Australian Governments swift and furious action following Port Arthur. 

And yet, each night as I fed, bathed and sang my son to sleep, all I could think about were the mothers and fathers of the world that have lost children. I can see and feel the unstoppable keening wail of a mother holding an empty blanket that still retains the scent of her dead child...and the blank empty silence that follows as she tries to remember to eat and live on. The pure hopelessness of a couple who aren't and never could have been equipped to deal with such a thing, and the way they will claw and rend at each other without wanting to. The useless but well-meant condolences that make you want to scream. The fury. The rage. 

How I longed for a proper brain. A book-writing, world-changing brain that could neatly compartmentalize and analyse violence and mental illness. I would even have settled for a brain that was capable of writing a thorough and incisive article. An article that helped.

As it turns out, I am not that person. 

I am simply one of millions on this planet that is continuously confused and horrified. I don't have answers. I have plenty of questions, but I suspect none of them are what I really wanted to ask.

As a singer/musician I, again, have to fall back on music to help me.

"My Precious One"

My precious one, my tiny one, lay down your pretty head.
My dearest one my sleepy one, its time to go to bed

My precious one, my darling one; don't let your lashes weep.
My cherished one, my weary one; it's time to go to sleep.

Just bow your head and give your cares to me.
Just close your eyes and fall into the sweetest dream, cause in my loving arms.
You're safe as you will ever be so hush my dear and sleep.

And in your dreams you'll ride on angels' wings.
Dance with the stars and touch the face of god
And if you should awake...

I'll kiss your little cheek
And underneath the smiling moon
I'll send you back to sleep.