I belong to a club. One that I did not… nor would ever…have asked to join. In fact, none of the members want to belong. But no one asks. You become aware of your membership when you begin to “wake” from the gut wrenching, horrible nightmare of “losing” your child.

We’re an “odd” club. We are “thrown” together. We DO NOT want to be here and by all means…………..we DO NOT want new members. “Misery loves company” does not apply. This type of misery I would not wish on any one. The dues come at too great of a price. The price………..your Child’s Life.

New members joined us on Friday December 14, 2012, in Newtown, CT. We did not want them and they do not have any desire to “get to know” us, or our “way of life.”

Each member has a very personal story and has experienced their own “personal” hell. Many of us can relate to each other and share a similar hell. Others have nothing in common. For some, the only thing in common is that we have buried our “Baby”. Be it their “Baby” died in the womb, never drew their first breath, spent only a finite amount of time on this earth, battled a horrible disease, battled drugs or took their own life. All feel like Hell.

I have been a member of this “club” for two years. Each story I hear, I think, “what a living hell.” All unimaginable to those “not in the club.”

The parents and families of these Precious “Babies” who lost their lives at SandyHook are in a Hell that, not even “club” members can fathom. The Hell that must exist for your Precious Child to have their life taken at the violent, brutal hands of another. To know that their child experienced unspeakable terror, fear and pain in their last moments and there was nothing they could do to protect them.

This is what I keep thinking since this horrific event. The horror of their last moments, how the families will ever “go on.” My Baby Girl, although considered “medically fragile” died suddenly. The trauma of her sudden death and surrounding circumstances haunts me, but if there is any comfort she was in “loving” hands. There is no comfort that can come from your child’s life being taken with unspeakable violence and horror.

Today, I heard about two or three more “kids” being laid to rest in Newtown, CT. My initial thought, those “kids” are someone’s baby. Don’t they deserve more than that. What about their name? How about, if you don’t know their name, LOOK IT UP. With the same effort and energy being used to sensationalize this horrific loss. My friend Kathy at Bereaved and Blessed writes about this, challenging each of us to “remember a name”. To remember their name, honors their life.

Their names, their sweet faces. They were someone’s Precious Girl or Little Guy. When I hear the debates surrounding gun control and mental health (both appropriate) I cannot engage. My heart and mind keep going to those families who are beyond suffering.

I just think of the rawness and complete numb state your mind and body shift to at the death of your baby. This raw grief defies explanation. The constant replays of your last hug, the last kiss. The unimaginable “what-if” and “if-only’s” that are on a constant reel to reel in their head.

Trying to endure a new minute, a new hour, a new day knowing you will never……. in this life…………hear your child’s voice, see their sweet face or snuggle their baby again. The panic I know they will feel when this hits. That feeling of “I must see my baby, I cannot go another moment without my baby. Yet, you must………you have to………….. you do.

I wish I had no idea what it is like to bury my child. But I do. So I am scared. Scared for the parents and families left behind. Scared for their grief and pain. Scared for their sleepless nights. Scared for their unstoppable, body wrenching tears that will flow. Scared for the nightmares that will inevitably haunt them. Scared for the strength they don’t know they have……… or if they have……. just to get out of bed.

Dear Newtown Ct, families, I am soooo sorry that this has happened. I am so sorry you have to be in this “club.”

Grief is a marathon…………a perpetual marathon. Not a sprint. It is a test of endurance that no one wants to try to pass. Some members of “the club” do better than others. Many of us just simply……….endure. I pray that these families are able to simply…………..endure.