Dear Mr. Obama,
I don't think of you very often, although I'm guessing I probably should as a proud American. When I do think about you, I often do so in a questioning manner. I don't always agree with your decisions and policies, but that's mostly because I don't understand them and don't try as hard as I should to see the thought process behind them. I will work on that.
But today, I pray for you and I feel for you, probably more than I ever have before. For some reason you were the last person on my mind as I drifted off to anxious sleep last night. You have a job that I would never desire. Making decisions is not my forte, and you sir, have to make them daily for yourself, your family, me, our nation and at times, the world. The whole wide world. I, often times, stress between which purse will be a better purchase, and you're deciding how to proceed as a strong nation through adversity, uncertainty and terror. I do not envy you; I feel for you.
Today I also respect you a bit more than I did yesterday at this time. Did you do anything extraordinary yesterday? No. Did you have any magic words to take away the extreme pain that we saw unfolding in Boston? No. What you did, however, was to stand up as our leader and form sentences that would hopefully affirm and comfort on some level. While millions of us were left bewildered and in shock, without any chance of forming words other than "why", you stood up and spoke for us.
Until last night, I've honestly never thought of how much weight you must carry every day of your life. In the moments last night when my husband and I were in our safe little home, watching minute after minute of horrific footage, I felt as though I couldn't breathe. I truly had chest pains. It was too much, and although we finally caved and turned off the images on our screen, they never left my mind and heart. But for you sir, I cannot imagine what the weight on your chest must feel like? I'm not really sure how you can breathe. You're the boss, these are you're people, this is your land, and our home together. Millions look immediately to you for insight, guidance, and comfort when tragedy strikes, and in those moments, you're just a man like anyone else, who I'm guessing is also in shock. You have the weight of the world, all of those injured, the city of Boston, and your sweet family on your mind and heart at all times, and yet, you have to be eloquent and fearless. I can't even fathom it.
Today and in the days to come, I'll be praying for you. I pray for you as a leader. Our leader, who must help a nation understand, somehow, this senseless act of evil. I pray for you as a justice seeker, that there might be some resolve. I pray for you as a voice among the world, when I'm guessing your words as just as hard to find, if not more so. I pray for you as a father and husband who must comfort, project and try to ensure safety for the women in your life who are looking to their family leader for a safe haven.
And mostly, I pray for you as a person. Your position requires much strength, wisdom, and courage to be the protector and voice for all of us. Even when you're grieving inside just as we all are today.
Thank you for leading us. Thank you for your words when we have none. And thank you for choosing a job that never shuts off after 5pm, on weekends or holidays. You're a stronger man than I. Much, much stronger, and I'm thankful for your leadership.
A proud, yet shaken American