I put the TV on briefly this morning, while the dog chewed her snackie bone.

The talking faces were kids who weren't killed in the school in Oklahoma, talking about what it was like.  They weren't giving information, exactly.  The most narrative of them was the girl, maybe 8 or 9, who described when she came outside afterwards and saw all the buildings and cars, "And I just cried so much!" she said, and was then flooded with the feeling again, and turned to bury her face in the body of (probably) her mom.

I can't recall if it was her, but one embraced child was told by the embracer that nothing this bad would ever happen to the kid again.  I got a little caught up in contemplating the propriety and plausibility of that assertion, clearly not certain, but I would want to tell the kid that too.  And sometimes I do want to tell someone I'm holding, and be told by someone holding me, that everything's going to be alright, however much one might quibble.  Cuz screw quibbling.  Quibbling has never been the friend to me I have thought it is.  It may be a great friend sometimes, but it's not one I should go to for everything.