Daddy, I don’t want to die. Why is the world so ugly, why do they want to kill us, what did we do?

Can someone tell me how to respond to this? Can someone explain to me why my ten year old, innocent daughter is thinking such horrific thoughts? Can you tell me why the f*** she has to carry such a weight on her fragile, frightened shoulders? Can you tell me why I, her Father, can’t answer her?

Isa was merrily chatting with a friend from school, I have to admit, I was eavesdropping from the other room. I couldn’t resist the excited giggles as she whispered about the Jonas Brothers: “I think Nick is really cute, if my Daddy would let me have a boyfriend, I’d choose him.” I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness as I wondered how long she’d still call me Daddy, how long she would still need me.

I pondered this issue for a while until a feeling of someone’s presence broke my spell. As I turned around, I found Isa standing in the doorway of my office. I turned back to my work and chuckled as I asked her “What’s the matter, did you find out your Jonas Prince Nick has a girlfriend” I was sure this remark would be responded by one of Isa’s sassy replies, instead I received silence. Once again I turned towards the door; it was then I noticed my daughter was paralyzed.

“Isa“, I asked slowly, “what happened baby?” Still no response. Isa was pale, her fists were clenched, she was looking not at me, but through me; speechless. I got up quickly and grabbed her, lifting her into my arms. My heart was racing, I had no idea what to do, until tears began to fall down my child’s cheeks; soon she was sobbing.

Isa had just been told about a phone call her friend’s Mother received, our town was being Narco Warned, for the second time in five days. The first warning, Isa didn’t know about, she thought it was Daddy’s Law that would not allow her older brothers outside past 11:00 p.m.

Isa was inconsolable as she explained what she was told: We have to lock all the doors and windows, we have to stay inside, balaceras, mass shootings are about to begin throughout the entire town. I was speechless, how could this information have gotten to my daughter, she’s just a baby for God’s sake. I have done everything possible to keep the evil from her perfect world. Why the hell would a Mother give vivid details to her young child, and why was that child friends with my daughter? Who the fuck gave her the right to condemn my child, to ravage and steal her innocence; to smother her dreams?

Isa was despondent as she pleaded with me for answers. “What did we do wrong Daddy? We’re not bad, why do they want to kill us? Please Daddy, do something, I don’t want to die.” I sat there rocking my daughter with weak, lie after lie, until her tears dried and she fell into an emotionally exhausted slumber. I carefully placed her in her bed, covered her, and closed the door.

My head hurt, not a normal pain, but an intense pressure, sharp and hot. I felt as if I were choking, gasping for air, suffocating. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it pound against my chest, I felt the blood and pulsing in my ears. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. I had stepped into Hell. I cursed my little girl’s hateful bitch friend and the girl’s stupid whore of a Mother. I cursed the very existence of this God forsaken town, state, and sorry excuse of a country. I cursed the junkies, the pushers, the runners, the crooked, blood soaked cops. I cursed my President, the U.S. President, Colombia, and God. I cursed every greedy bastard I had ever met or known, teachers, bankers, doctors, and Priests; I cursed myself, for failing my daughter.