Bruised Hope

A moment ago, I felt . . .

. . . mentally exhausted

. . . emotionally depleted

. . . physically lethargic

. . . overwhelmed by the plethora of tragic media news.

The final nail in my proverbial coffin is hammered by two depressing news reports.

First news: The body of a two-year-old toddler, Kymani, from Techier Village, Point Fortin, Trinidad is discovered in the Guapo River after almost 12 hours of being missing. He was last seen walking along a main road clad in pampers. 

Second story: A mom and her 12-year-old son both chopped to death. Tears gushed from my heart as I read the reports of students of the Catholic school attended by the boy weeping uncontrollably upon hearing the news. 

The news takes me into the fathomless abyss of the children’s and family’s pain, but I surely can’t reach the depth of their pain.

In chapel,  the Psalmists gives me words to pray, “Out of the depths, I cry to you, O Lord” (Psalms 131:1).

The flow of my emotional river enters the expansive ocean of questions: 

“If the anecdotal stories of persons seeing the two-year-old boy walking on the road are true, then why did it not raise an alarm?”

“Have the weak and vulnerable become so etched in our social landscape that seeing them no longer raises alarm bells?

My prayer ended with a bruised hope. I still wonder, “Will the dawn of a new level of consciousness ever arrive?”

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