Who will tuck them in?

I got up this morning, and thought of all the things I needed to do. Shower, shave, get dressed, go to work--normal stuff. Just anther day, right? There were other things I wanted to do, too, like get some milk, gas up the car, kiss my wife, hug my kids, and maybe mow the lawn if I wasn't too lazy after work. I was going to do all of that, and maybe more.

But I got shot today.

I was going to punch out and get in my car and go home. I was going to pick up the little ones  and twirl them around and pet the dog and say "Honey, something sure smells good in the oven!" We were going to sit around the kitchen table, my family and me,  and talk about the holidays and who was going to get what, and giggle and make faces at each other.

But I got shot today.

I was going to sleep in this Saturday, have some coffee , and then hit up some yard sales. My wife, she loves the deals! Later I would roll on the carpet with my little ones. We might build a fort in the living room. Then I would read them a bed time story and kiss their smooth foreheads and smell the baby shampoo as their little eyes closed, secure in their beds with daddy tucking them in.

But I got shot today.

Even as I am carted off to wherever it is that statistics go, the hateful and the righteous begin pointing crooked fingers at one another, using my warm blood to color their arguments for or against. But my kids, my dear sweet kids, they don't care about who is right or who is wrong. They can only lie in their beds, their hair still damp from their nighttime bath,  and listen to their mommy crying as softly as she can, sitting at the suddenly barren kitchen table.  In their shock and confusion, their little hearts filled with an unbearable sadness that will influence everything they do from now until they die, they can only wonder, why isn't daddy coming home?

And who will tuck us in?