Tomorrow is another first day of school for us. Our school sent out a video, “how not to drop off the kids.” It was cute. And I get it. Drop off needs to be fast and efficient. Pull up, move along, be quick. That’s why I always walk the kids in rather than drive to school, because I can’t hurry it along. I can’t be quick, drop them off, and go. There’s this paranoid piece of me that thinks what if this s the last time I see them? What if today is the day and this is the school?
While I am getting ready to send my kids off to school tomorrow, there are parents mourning today. I am sad, angry, and feel so helpless. Last year, after yet another shooting, I wrote the following for a journal I keep for them for when they’re older. I still feel just as frightened as ever, and don’t think that will ever change.
I know my thoughts and prayers won’t do what need to be done for the suffering families, but do keep them in my thoughts and prayers.
Watching you walk into school
I always stay until I can’t see you anymore.
I never drive you in because I wouldn’t be able to watch you walk in.
I’d have to let you out and leave.
But I need to see you go into the school.
I wish I could say it was for sentimental reasons.
Like “Oh this is the last time will see you this small. Tomorrow you will be bigger, so I wait for you to turn around, give me that toothy grin, and wave ‘bye mommy’ before going into the school.”
And part of that is true. Of course I love those sweet moments. But you rarely turn around and wave anymore. Still I wait until I see you are inside.
I could say it’s because I hold onto the hope that you will turn and wave, like I’m so many other parents tell themselves.
But that’s not why I wait.
I wait because I am terrified.
I’ve lost countless nights sleeps to imagining the absolute worst.
Sometimes the fear is numbed but sure enough, just as I’m getting more comfortable, another school shooting is reported.
Every time it happens my fear is renewed.
When I picture it, I’m seeing you through the classroom window, scrambling for your lives next to art cubbies and rain jackets. Not grown soldiers but my little girls in pig tails and dresses, my boy with his scuffed knees and oversized shirt.
Slinking against the walls.
Crawling under tiny desks.
Trying not to cry.
Wishing I was there to help hide you.
Mostly I imagine the shooter could be coming from the outside, shooting you through the window, like a sniper.
Once in a while imagine the slow sound of the footsteps from the hallway. The slow walk while your teachers beg you all to stay calm, stay quiet, try not to pee yourselves.
I’ve thought about the Sandy Hook babies, shoved in closets and bathrooms and sure they could fight off the bad guys. I‘ve imagined you could use you innocence to keep you calm.
I’ve thought about the Parkland children, calling out for their mothers. I’ve imagined you doing the same, hoping you’d know how much I love you in those final moments.
I’ve thought about the mother’s in Uvalde, breaking into the school and imagined the Sophie’s Choice I’d have to make if I needed to get in and save you.
Who would I save first?
Would I go to the closest room? The room with the easiest access? Or should I try the furthest away because you have less of a chance to get out? And how am I getting you all out? Am I sneaking around the school with you or just hiding you somewhere else?
Maybe I should just try to take the shooter down myself? But then I might be wasting time trying to save you.
I decided it would have to depend on which door or window I could get into, and then I’d do a top to bottom sweep.
I’ve tried to memorize the floor plan of the school in case.
I think of all the shoes you own and how parents have had to ID their child’s body based only on the shoes.
I think of my custodial job and the people who would have to clean it up afterwards.
I think of how the community would rally for a few weeks, maybe more, but then we’d just be another statistic.
I think of the dissent into madness that would eventually take over.
Every single day I think of it.
Every single day I watch you walk into school and don’t move until I can’t see you anymore.
Because every single day I am afraid I might never see you again.
If you can, consider donating to Sandy Hook Promise to help prevent gun violence