I woke up this morning and heard the devastating news about the events that took place in Nice, France last night. Shaved my legs, got the kids ready for school and nursery, had one sip of my tea which was already cold by then, cleaned the dog’s poo and ran out the door like every-other morning.

When I got the twins out of the car I realised that one of them had spilt water all over her dress and she was now totally soaked. That’s when I burst into tears.

My twins who are three looked at me in shock. Dina, the one whose dress was wet, said “I’m sorry mommy,” which obviously made me cry even more. The poor little thing thought I was upset over her dress, when in fact all I could think of were those poor people last night, running for their lives, children included, moms with babies in their arms.

What a messed up world we have made for ourselves, when people celebrating on the streets an event that is all about freedom and being united get run over by a truck?

Why isn’t the world safe?

The amount of hate and level of violence in that act are just beyond anything I could ever understand or even start to explain to my children who still see the world as a safe, pink, fluffy place where all their wishes can come true and nothing bad ever actually happens.

She asked me why I was crying, to which I replied “‘cos something bad happened last night in a beautiful place called Nice, and it’s making mommy a little bit sad sweetie.” At this point she lost interest and wondered off to pick some grass she could later show her nursery teacher.

I wiped my tears and adjusted my sunglasses. After I dropped them off at nursery, I rushed to work where again I had the “privilege” to be able to forget what had happened for a few hours.

As I sit in from of my computer writing these words, I am really struggling. I’m struggling to comprehend how and why these things happen. I wonder to myself how the people who decide to commit these horrendous crimes have lost touch with their inner humanity that they can’t feel any love or compassion inside of them towards their fellow human beings.

What do they say?

I wonder what those people say to their own children when they tuck them into bed at light? How do they explain to their loved ones what they do? How hateful they are? How do their wives lay beside them in bed at night? How do their friends look them in the eye? How do their children learn how to love when they are surrounded by so much hate?

It breaks my heart. Not just when I think about the victims in Nice and all over the world and their families, but also when I think about how lost we all are. Lost for words, lost for answers and lost for hope.

As a mom, I struggle even more on days like this. There’s the obvious thoughts of “what if it happens to us” and moments when I think we are never leaving the house again. And there are the thoughts about how can I ever explain to my child why these things happen when the truth is that I honestly don’t know the answer to that.

Yes sure, I can cling on to all the political reasons and even throw religion in there but the truth of the matter, the heart of the matter, the actual core of it all is far from being something anyone can explain intellectually. Because it isn’t. Because when you see the horror in people’s eyes and you carry on driving down that road without stopping for 1.5 miles, there is no way that what’s making you do it is some ideology. There is something deeper and darker that that.

And it’s not just hate either—it’s lack of love.

Where is the love?

I know this because I know what drives me as a person and as a mother. What makes me want to be a good person, what makes me want to help others, what makes me sad when something bad happens.


So on that note, I would like to send out my thoughts and prayers to the victims’ families and anyone hurting. But most of all, I would like to send out my love. May we all have a bit more love in our hearts and in the spirit of Bastille Day, may we all stand united.

This post originally appeared on Tova’s Blog, reprinted with permission.

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