I don't know what to write, yet I feel the need to say something. To comfort myself I guess, to remind myself that it's okay to think about taking the kids to the mall or to the grocery store without having to look over my shoulder and wonder if one of us was going to be hurt or killed on the way back to the car. I had the most horrible visions when we'd take them anywhere. The snipers shot a child on his way to school, why would they hesitate to harm one of mine as I was strapping them into their seats?

And what would I do if something like that happened? How would I react?

I don't know if I could function. Even with all of the frustration and isolation I feel every day I know that I can't live without them or their father. I've made this family my whole world and if one piece were to be taken away the space would never be filled with anything else. It couldn't be. There is no wholeness without them. All of them.

What if it had been my husband who was murdered? How could we go on without him? His laugh, his smile, the animated way he talks. In his mannerisms and humor, so much like our children. What if it had been one of my children? So many times their care and need has been what kept me alive. I love them and their father beyond words.

So as horrible as this sounds, while I cry for the people who were harmed and want justice for them and their families, I also send up a prayer of thanks that the killer who was resting so close to my home last night was taken before he had the opportunity to take anyone himself. We have our urban areas, but mostly this is a rural place with lots of small towns and about a hundred different backroads and access to major highways. He could have hit and easily fled. Perhaps more easily here because of all of the ways he would have to make his exit.

So I'm grateful that he and his accomplice are in police custody, locked away and unable to harm anoyone else. It makes me feel better because I know what the possible result of their presence meant to my family and my community.

But while I'm grateful and very relieved I don't feel completely happy because now I know the stories of the people who weren't as fortunate as I was and I ache for them. Actually, their suffering is past. I ache for the people they left behind, some of whom were with them when they were taken.

I'd like to believe that there is some good in this world, that someone horrible isn't lurking around every corner, disguised as a regular person but rotten on the inside.

Some days it's easier to believe that than others.