Another Day, Another Bus Stop

To the very small number of people who read this blog, I could really use some advice. I sometimes try to be funny here, but today I'm going to lay it pretty thick. And I'll take whatever you've got to give. There's stewingham@hotmail.com, that other address, the phone and my face.

It's been a full night of internal dialogue. It goes something like this:

Does it help to know that he's there?
Yes, kind of. I want to know who's near the kids.
But in a way it's creepy. Watching his house. Waiting for a sign.
But isn't it creepier if I don't know, if I go to another stop and don't know.
Isn't it creepier not to know?
And then there's the matter of public lynching.
Is it wrong to want to get the guy?
Is it wrong to silently question his parents, ask what went wrong, as they drive past the bus stop, on their way to work?
What's with Dad wanting to tell everyone?
He's got three daughters.
I get that.
He lives next to a convicted pedophile and he has three daughters.
I have two daughters and a son.
None are safe.
But I can't live in fear.
I can't live my life in fear.
But it happened to him. A friend of the family came for dinner.
And it happened to her. But who was it?
It can happen.
It might happen.
I can't live in fear.
Is this why some choose not to have children?
The fear.
The wondering.
Always.
I can't live in fear.
I can't keep them safe.
I love them.
I can't live in fear.