It is not the death of youth br that shocks us into grief, br but the sucker-punch reminder br we were never in control. br br We cultivate our children br like fresh spring bulbs, br nurturing the blossoms, feeding br the roots, wrenching the weeds br br around the tender stem. br The backlash of violence br is nature's thorn prick, br the stabbing truth that br br despite our tireless tending, br our perfect homes br and pure intentions, br we will never br br spade every flaw br in the flowerbed, br every stone in the soil br slowly choking the roses.