December 16, 2012
I wanted to come back here to post a picture of Daniel’s certificate from his Mind Math class. It was his first ever A+. And post the pictures from Annabel’s Christmas dance recital. She was a beautiful snowflake. But then, everything changed. I’ve been existing in a dark, cloudy emotional space for the past three days. There are parents, there are MOTHERS, who won’t be spending Christmas morning with their babies. There were 20 beautiful children and several loving teachers taken away from us way too soon because of someone evil. I should say “mentally ill,” but I just don’t feel like it.
I saw one of the little girl’s father on the news. He was asking us to pray for the family of the shooter. Of the evil one. I just can’t do it. Not yet.
My husband came home early on Friday so we could pick up our kids in the carpool lane together. Those were the longest 30 minutes of my life. When I saw them running to the car, hand-in-hand with backpacks flying and big smiles on their faces, I almost broke down. My eyes were already red and puffy and I tried to hide that. I just hugged them. Really hard.
I want to talk to their school. I want to know what the plan is for something like this. Is there a cabinet or a storage closet ready to go? Does my kid’s teacher have someone with mental illness in their life? Should there be an armed guard at the front door? Should I home school?
I want to scream to the heavens and ask, why, just WHY? I want to stop walking around in hazy circles. I want to stop checking the news websites every hour waiting for updates and watching the children’s names emerge. One is named Daniel.
It was a horrible day. It continues to feel horrible. I’m a mother and I just feel every mother’s pain. It’s so deep that I can’t even imagine what they must feel. I can’t imagine. I just pray.
I want to send them something. I want to do something for them. I want to hug them. All of them. I want to take my children and run away. Or lock them in the house and never leave. I want to take away all the guns. I feel that it’s my job to protect them from this big, bad world. I hate that I feel that way.
Instead, I will take them back to school in the morning. With a heavier heart. And a little more fear. And also with immense gratitude. And with so many questions running through my head. And with the sadness that comes from living in a world that continues to chip away at our children’s innocence.