I look at the little boy in the bed, and my heart bleeds once again.  It's been nearly a week since that horrible day that changed the lives of 26 families forever and people are still reeling from the enormity of the tragedy.

A gunman went on a shooting rampage, storming into an elementary school here in Connecticut, first killing his parents (including his mother, who was a teacher at this school), then shooting 20 children, and five other adults, before turning the gun on himself before police even arrived.

The little boy I am taking care of is in extrmely critical condition.  Little Timmy Johnson's* vital signs are still erratic at best and he remains in a coma.  Doctors are concerned about brain damage when (and if) he wakes up.  I and my fellow nurses (and doctors assigned to his care) are going to do everything in our power to ensure that Timmy survives, but we are left wondering if he will even remember anything about what happened (and why).

We are praying he doesn't.  Timmy is only five years old, just a kindergartener.  No child should ever have to witness such horror.  It was bad enough seeing the images played out on our television set; now the first of the funerals have begun as the families of the deceased come together to say good bye to their loved ones.  Instead of celebrating Christmas, they will be mourning the loss of their family members.

I just checked on Timmy about five minutes ago, and he is still the same.  No change in his condition.  It's very discouraging.  I am praying he survives with all his senses intact, and if not, I am praying that he doesn't remember the fear, panic, confusion, and bloodshed of last Friday.  Suddenly Christmas is the last thing on our minds as our city comes to grips of what has taken place and the fear of whether it will happen again, if not here, but someplace else ....

~To be continued!*

*Not child's real name.