I’ve been trying to write this post for a few days now and I’m struggling with what to say.  My husband and I were celebrating our 10 year anniversary in Paris when terrorists took aim at the heart of the City of Light.

The whole time we were there I was planning all of the great things I wanted to come home and share on this blog, and I promise I will, because at the end of the day, it’s the magical moments I want to remember about our trip to Paris.  But it feels shallow to jump into lists and tips and photos without paying respect to this amazing city which had such horrific acts perpetrated against it.

I’m at such a loss to understand this level of hate and evil that has no regard for life.  My heart is broken and I left a piece of it in Paris when I left.

I fell in love with Paris.  I feel in love with the people and their slow to warm charm.  I find myself wondering about the barely showing pregnant woman who handed me a warm pain au chocolate and creamy cappuccino each morning and praying that her circle was untouched.  I regret the speed at which we left our hotel and wished I had given a big old American hug to the hotel manager who greeted us each morning and grew ever more jovial as the days passed, whose face brought me a bit of comfort on that unsettled Saturday morning.  I find myself thinking about the servers at the cafes and bistros where we ate some of the most lovingly created food of our life and see their faces, wishing I could see them again, if only to share a smile and some kindness.

And I am mad.  I am mad that people filled with vile hate attacked the streets filled with young and old lovers celebrating the end of the work week, watching a futbol game, celebrating life.  I am mad that they once again have shaken me to my core, leaving me feeling vulnerable and scared.  My heart hurts and my head can’t make sense of any of it.  I am mad and I am scared and I am very very sad.  But I am also hopeful.

Because despite it all, the music still plays in the Streets of Paris.  Because despite it all, the morning after the horrifying attacks, I saw Parisians, doing what Parisians do — walking to the boulangerie for their warm baguette.  Because despite of it all, the squares are full, not empty.  Because Paris is living and loving in spite of it all, in spite of the hate.

We cut our trip short and flew home Saturday morning.  I couldn’t get my kids into my arms fast enough.  I’ve been trying to return to routine but my heart is broken for the World that is hurting so badly in so many places.  So I will do the only thing I know how to do with this much pain, I will cling to love.  I will hold my kids closer.  I will turn off the news and listen for the music. I will be kind and patient with myself as I regain my footing. And I will cling to hope that, despite the hurt and pain and sadness and hate, love will endure.