[2008 – “lookalike” day. us girls, looking like our principal]
I don’t want to do this right now. And I didn’t feel like doing it over the weekend either – certainly not on Friday.
Posting the Christmas DIY I’ve been super antsy to tell you about… or even a few of my favorite last minute holiday treats just doesn’t matter.
My heart is heavy.
I know your’s is too.
My fingers are stuck on the keyboard.
2 minutes just passed.
Words are replaced with tears.
You see, before I was mother, I was a teacher. (K for a year and 1st for four).
Hearing the news on Friday literally brought me to my knees. My mind raced back to the 4 foot by 4 foot bathroom in my 1st grade classroom. All 22 of us were crammed in there – knees touching, dead silent. I had snagged my cell phone and a few picture books, just in case we needed to be distracted. I wasn’t sure how long we’d have to be in there. We were in lock-down. Normally this was just standard protocol; a drill we did at least once a quarter. The administration would say, “Lock down drill” and we’d put procedures into place: lock our doors, cover the windows, huddle in a corner, and wait for the cue that it was over.
But this time, there was no “drill” attached to the “lock down”. My instincts kicked in… get them to the safest place possible. That was behind a locked door within our classroom. The tiny bathroom.
Our admin had accidentally forgotten to say, “drill.” The entire school thought we were experiencing the real thing.
It was one of the most terrifying experiences. And yet, for some reason, I had a surge of courage and an overwhelming sense of peace being together as a class. We loved each other.
My thoughts then shifted from that day in my classroom to another day…
The day I became a mother.
Both experiences collided together. My heart literally seemed to split down the middle and shatter in different directions.
I was experiencing and envisioning both sides of this horrifying day. The side of the teacher coupled with the side of a mother.
Both of whom love little children.
Even in this moment, it’s nearly impossible to suppress the oncoming wave of emotion.
I just want to say I’m so very sorry. Sorry to the parents, to the brothers and sisters, the teachers, the classmates, the community. All those who are longing for their little loved ones.
My heart hurts with you.
My heart hurts for all the rest of us too. Those who wish they could do something to somehow make it better. And those who are discouraged to raise children in this ever changing world.
All we can do is our best: to live each day worthy as our last, to teach our children the difference between right and wrong, to mend broken relationships, to help those around us in need.
And ultimately, to leave the path behind us better than before we traveled it.
I know love can heal all wounds.
My prayers are with you all.