A Heavy Heart.

My heart hurts.

Earlier this week, there was a horrific accident -- a bus crashed in Switzerland.  It was filled with Belgian students, returning from a school ski trip. More than half of the people on the bus - 28 were killed and 22 of them children.  Twenty-two.   I can hardly even think about it without tears filling in my eyes.

This is such a small country.  That's a lot of kids.  They were 11 and 12-year olds (sixth graders) from two small catholic schools in Flanders.  All of the adults perished, two bus drivers and four teachers.  The tragedy hit the entire country, but it's impossible not to know someone that was personally affected.  John plays hockey with guys from Heverlee, one of the villages.

I know that it's not easy for Americans to relate to school trips like that, especially for younger students.  I never, ever went away for a school trip, except for a weekend retreat and that wasn't until high school.  It's just not something that American kids have the chance to do.

At our school here, the younger primary kids go to "classes vertes."  They don't leave the country, but they do get on a bus and go away with their class for a week at a camp setting.  AJ came back from this experience (his first trip, a few years ago) a completely different kid.  After just four days away, he was more mature, more independent.  This year, our calendar says that the fifth and sixth graders are going to Amsterdam for their trip.

When I take the kids to school in the morning, Miss B and I usually walk AJ and Monkey down to their playground.  Monkey typically needs a bit of assistance, whether it's with his swim gear (on Tuesdays, they take the bus to the swimming pool first thing, and a few weeks ago when I didn't walk him all the way to his classroom, he forgot to take his swim bag to the pool, even though he had it with him) or his gym sack (on Fridays, they put on their muddy boots and walk across the pastures to the recreation center up the road for gym class.)  Anyway, after we help monkey get settled, Miss B and I usually sit on a bench and watch the big kids run and play before we go up to her class room.

This week, I sat and watched the sixth graders on the playground, and I could hardly do it without crying.  There are probably only 22 kids in the entire sixth grade class at our school.  I cannot even imagine what it would be like to have them just gone.  These faces -- while I don't know a lot of their names -- I've watched them grow up over the last four years.  One of the teachers that was killed sounded a lot like Avery's teacher.  He was popular with students and parents, and lived for his students.  He started a blog, just for this trip for his students and encouraged them to post messages for friends and classmates back home.  That's almost an entire class and teacher, just gone.  Forever.

My heart breaks for the parents and siblings of the lost children, for their schoolmates they left behind, and for my adopted country of Belgium.

Heaven has 22 new angels that I wish hadn't been called away so early.