Thank You

I couldn't effectively get out of bed this morning. I don't know if it had something to do with Mother Nature introducing our first frost of the season, or if maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the king size, but when I finally got into the steaming hot shower that is my usual salvation, I had to give myself a little pep talk. Getting dressed, blow drying, primping...it just felt like such a set of nearly impossible chores.

My daughter and I grunted at each other in the kitchen. She usually grunts, I try to jazz things up with a hearty "Good morning, babe." But not today. Grunting was it.

I decided, since my daughter had a particularly rough field hockey game the night before, that I would drive her to school today instead of her taking the bus. I just wanted to spend a little more time with her. My son drives himself to his high school, so we hugged and I patted him on the back and I wished him a good day and told him that I loved him. He told me the same.

So at 7:10 am, I dropped my daughter off at her middle school with a flurried kiss, and began my 30 minute drive to work. On my way, as I was listening to the radio, I heard the reports of a nearby local school system, that was shut down for the day and that there was police presence.

7:37 am I arrive at work. Yawn.

At sometime right before lunch, around 12:30 pm, I started to feel jittery. Jumping out of my skin kind of jittery. Like I couldn't sit still. Like I could run, no sprint. I almost did. It wasn't from the pumpkin spiced coffee (2), I swear. I drink that many every day. I am immune.

At my hour long lunch break, I picked up a bite to eat and went back to my office and decided to check up on the news that I had heard earlier in the car, just as officials were arraigning a teenager for allegedly killing a teacher. I just can't fathom it. I can't wrap my brain around any of it. It was heartbreaking.

At 3:15 pm, I punched out and headed to my car to make a quick stop at home to change out of my work clothes and then to meet my daughter at her friend's soccer game. At 3:17 pm, still sitting in my car at the parking lot at work, I got a call from my son's high school. It's a recorded message (our school system does this for alerts, snow days, important meetings, etc), but nonetheless, when you see your kids school on your caller ID, I hardly know a parent that lets it get to a second ring.

And the message went like this as our high school principal first announced himself: "There was an incident this afternoon, where a student brought a weapon to the high school. Two students became aware of the concern and alerted a teacher. The teacher immediately notified administration, who then contacted the police. A member of the administration and a counselor promptly went to the classroom where the student was located. They were soon thereafter joined by the police. The student was isolated and all others were cleared from the classroom and the surrounding hallways. When questioned, the student fully cooperated and admitted to having a weapon. The police took possession of the weapon and then the student was escorted by police to the police station. The police and school personnel are working cooperatively to assure the safety of all of our students. I am very proud of how our students and staff addressed this situation and also how they communicated with each other in order to resolve the situation without incident. Thank you very much and have a good day."

"Have a good day." I said outloud. "Have a good day." I said again outloud.

I put my car in reverse and backed out of my space.

At 3:29 pm I pullover at the recycling center entrance and sent this text my son: "Can you call me after football and before you go to play rehearsal?"

 I drove home and pulled into the driveway. I stopped at the bottom to collect the mail and the emotion welled up in my throat and in my eyes and in my heart, I felt fear. And relief. And gratitude. Sell-your-soul-to-the-devil-type-of-bargaining-followed-with-a-firm-fiery-handshake-kind-of-relief. My knees felt compromised. Through blurry vision, at 3:44 pm, I wrote the following email to our principal:

"B~

Two words: Thank you

It takes incredibly brave human beings to walk up to a classroom, knowing there is a weapon in it, surrounded by the souls of our children, that we all love so much.

What an incredible gift you and your staff of teachers and administrators are to all of our kids.

I am so proud of the students who took action. Wow!

Thank you, thank you, thank you,

~J & L's Mom"

His response, a mere 18 minutes later (I am sure he had more pressing things to tend to) at 4:04pm went like this:

"~Thank you L

I am proud of everyone involved. It took a team effort who acted immediately and within minutes all were safe and out of harms way. I am so proud of our school today.

~B"

I drove to my daughter's school, which is right next door to the high school, after changing into a pair of jeans and an old comfy sweatshirt that seemed medicinal, and I found myself speeding up and slowing down, over and over again. Foot heavy on the gas, foot gently on the brake.

As I walked across the field next to the soccer field, I spotted her from behind sitting with three of her friends. I stopped in my tracks just to stare at her. Just for being there. She has the most beautiful hair. I just stood there, until by some form of mysterious signaling, she turned around and saw me. She yelled my name and then got up and ran over to me. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a big, long squeeze, buried my nose in her hair (to smell her deliciousness, it's just what I do) and asked her how her day was and what was the score of the game.

I convened with some friends and parents on the sidelines after leaving my daughter to do what teenagers do at a sporting event. We commiserated. We, I don't know, we stood in fear and gratitude together. Somewhat numb, I guess. Trying to live life as if it were just a normal, happy, peaceful world out there. Because, sometimes, that's what works best.

After the game ended, my daughter and I walked alone to the car. I asked: "Did you hear what happened at the high school today?" Wide eyed, she responded with a pronounced "Yes!" That's awful, why would someone bring a gun to school, Mom?"

Me: "I don't know. I just don't know. Are you OK?"

Her: "Yes, I am fine."

Me: "Are you hungry."

Her: "Yes."

Me: "Do you mind if we stop at the high school? I want to try to talk with your brother in between football practice and play rehearsal. I just need to see his face."

Her: "Sure, Mom."

We drive down the road, pulled into the parking lot and we happen to catch my son right before he gets into his car, with some of his friends. He looks so grown up. Handsome. He pulls his phone out of his bag and as he sees me pulling into a parking space across the aisle from his car I hear some kid yell "J, your Mom is here!"

I walk over to his friends, we say hello and chat, I notice the sweat soaked t-shirt and mud on his face and decide not to smell this one, and I ask my son if I can speak with him over near where I parked my car. He follows me, and I ask him how his day was and if he is OK."

"What an idiot." he says quietly and solemnly with his head down.

"Do you know him?" I ask.

"No, he's a freshmen. I don't really know who he is."

"How are you? Do you need to talk."

"No Mom, I think I am OK."

Can I buy you and your friends a couple of pizzas?" (Sorry, food is love)

And they love me.

I wish I could say that was all it takes. A Meat lover's pizza and a few sodas. But it's not. They will do what they do every day over and over again, but something tells me, they won't look at school or the world in general the same ever again, because now it has hit close to home. It's real. They are resilient, but we can't go back. We can't un-hear it. Or un-know it. We can't unscramble scrambled eggs.

So maybe there was a reason I couldn't get out of bed easily this morning. Maybe today was one of those days, better spent beneath the covers. But how can I? How could we? They need us. They need to see that we can feel some of the fear without letting it take control. That life, just doesn't stop. It keeps on going.

And all I can say, again, is two words without really choking up. Thank you.

10:24 pm: Thank you, B, thank you teachers, thank you administrators and students and kids and friends and parents. And Thank you God.