It’s a place I’ve tried to avoid since the turn of the millennium. I pass through there regularly, but I bite my lip, swallow past that huge lump in my throat, and try not to cry. I do not stop.
That’s because it’s such a lovely place with a huge hole. Last year that hole got bigger. Not just for me but for all the folks who love its windy, tree lined roads, its historic houses, its New Englandness. For all those who love children. For all those who hate violence.
My sister Judy lived there. I miss her.
I was forced to go through there. As we drove north to Maine on Saturday, traffic came to a halt. I knew the roads from a few decades of driving them. I took them to get where we were going. Yes, we got off the highway, and I wound my way down the streets of Newtown, Connecticut. Through Sandy Hook.
We stopped for gas at a Mobil station right next to the Blue Colony Diner, where my sister helped me laugh through my troubles thirty years ago. Where the two of us solved all the world’s problems over coffee and pie. Where we laughed and cried, but mostly laughed.
On the door of the gas station was a sign that made me cry, too. But in a different way.
Yes. Sandy Hook Chooses Love. Love over hate. Love over violence. Love over the 2nd Amendment.
And so do I.