Things have changed

Yesterday morning a man in our neighborhood was murdered. He was a grandfather, a husband, a father, a businessman and now he's gone. He was murdered in a home break-in. They woke his family and him up at 4am, tied them, gagged them, beat his wife and shot him. Things like that don't happen in our area. Things like that should not happen in our neighborhood.

We have lived in our house 8 years and never once have I felt scared in this house. We live out in the boondocks and yet I have never had a moment's unease in our home or on our property.

Until now.

We don't have many neighbors but, aside from the dog-hitting neighbor, we get along with the few we have. I have exchanged recipes with the elderly lady who lives to the west of us. She's sent us dinner and I've sent them dinner when the other is under the weather. Her husband helped me dispose of a dead kitten once before the kids got home and Paul has gone up to help him with some farm machinery. We wave to cars we meet on the dirt road - whether we know them or not. Paul has gone down to the creek bottom at 11 at night a time or two when we've heard the sounds of a truck stuck in the mud. Last week when the neighbor girl to the east broke up with her boyfriend Abby and I made her cookies because we are firm believers that cookies make everything better.

But I'm afraid cookies won't fix this.

For the first time in their lives, my kids were scared when they went to bed last night. That hurt my heart so badly. I tucked them in, assured them once again that their daddy and I were doing every we knew to do to keep them safe. I kissed foreheads, told them I loved them then walked into the living room and busted into tears. Paul didn't sleep in the bed with me last night - he slept on the couch with a loaded gun close by. The Glock he bought me a few years ago that I have never fired nor felt the need to and has been tucked away separate from the clip for years now, was pulled out of hiding, loaded and put where I can get to it if I need to.

Now, you might say we're overreacting but when something so heinous, so shocking, so tragic happens in a small rural community just outside of a small town....I think maybe everyone overracts in their own way. Ours just happens to be by arming ourselves to the hilt. While I have my pistol, Paul also showed me how to shoot his semi-automatic assault rifle and how to shoot from the hip with the shotgun and that putting it to my shoulder and aiming isn't necessary if I'm trying to knock someone out the front door away from our kids. One of my Facebook friends left a status message last night that her husband had given her her first handgun lesson. It's springtime - a time we usually have the doors and windows open. Not right now. Maybe not ever again.

My heart is sad, my soul is weary, my body is exhausted. I woke up to every sound last night. I checked on the kids several times. I walked the floor, looking out the windows, checking the door locks.

No, I'm afraid this is too big for cookies.