Written by Heather Starr Fiedler. Posted in PittsburghMom

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I'm a worrier. I've always been one.  When I was a little girl I can remember worrying every time my parents would go out and leave us with a sitter.  I remember my mother telling me that my grandmother, too, was a worrier.

I try not to let my worry get in the way of my life, but sometimes, like this week, it's hard.

My mother had a small heart attack a few years ago and for a year after that I'd get worried to death every time my father's number showed up on my caller ID.

Every time there is an accident on a local road I'm terrified it's someone I know.

Every time my husband is home later than usual I'm scared.

Two weeks ago I followed behind an ambulance heading towards my kids' school. I got progressively more panicked as the miles went on and I followed him, turn for turn.  I finally let out  the breath I was holding when he turned down a different road.

I've always been able to calm my fears by assuring myself that I'm being irrational and everything is, of course, fine.

And then Sandy Hook happened. And I'm scared. I'm scared that no matter how safe we try to be and how much we try to project them sometimes bad things happen. And we are often powerless against them.

I think that the more I have invested in people, the more scared I get.  As the years wear on and I'm more and more in love with my children and my husband, the stakes just grow higher. I can't bear the thought of anything bad ever happening to them.  

I don't know how you make sense of something so senseless. and I don't know how to protect my babies. And that leaves me worried. More now than ever.

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