I picked Isabella up early from school that day because she was doing half days that week while recovering from being sick. Shortly after picking her up, we heard the news of the Connecticut school shootings. I didn't know the details but I knew I was glad she was in the back seat. Later that day, I learned the details. Through tears, unable to talk, I watched the news, watched the Yahoo ticker, listened to the details (regretted listening to the details), got impatient with the kids because I didn't feel like I could deal...then got mad at myself for getting impatient with kids that I had here with me. I should be grateful, not impatient.
I was sick though. Sick over what had happened and sick over what has not happened in this country. Sick over the fact that in two days I would have to take my five year old back to a place that maybe wasn't as safe as I had imagined. I couldn't sleep that night as I tried to imagine the families who felt like they would never be able to sleep again. These terrible acts have happened so many times before, but this time it felt different. It didn't make any of those other incidents less of a tragedy. This time it was different because I could put myself in these parent's shoes. My oldest is the age of these children. That was a feeling I just didn't want to relate to.
Monday came too fast and Isabella cried as she got dressed. She didn't want to go to school. I really didn't want to take her to school. We talked about what her day would be like, looked at her calender to check her special for the day, she looked through her lunchbox, we packed her folder; all the things that we do every morning. Not one moment went by that I didn't think about those parents doing the same things that Friday. I buckled all three kids into their carseats, Isabella put her thumb in her mouth, Declan and Quinn asked for their favorite song and we pulled out of the driveway. I kept looking back at Isabella. She sat in the back seat, thumb in mouth, eyes on the road--quiet. Declan and Quinn sat in the middle row "weeee are never, ever, ever...getting back together..." smiles and laughs. I turned the music up so they wouldn't hear me. I cried for that 23 minute drive and I wanted to turn around. I thought about the families that wouldn't go to school that day. I just could not stop thinking. As we turned onto the road that her school is on, she spoke. Isabella yelled out "Mom! Did you know that Mia and I have twin thumbs?" And just like that, the tears were wiped away and I asked her what she meant. "Well, Oscar scratched my thumb and then he scratched Mia's thumb in the same place! We have twin thumbs now! And did you know I can speak his language? If he scratches, he wants down. If he wags his tail, he is feeling frisky. If he nibbles at my hand, he wants to play...." and we pulled into the parking lot as if it were any other Monday.
When she stopped looking sad, stopped sucking her thumb and pouting about going to school. When she said "Mom!" and spoke like Isabella...happy, excited, and eager, I let it all go. I decided that I couldn't live with this fear. She was going to school and she would have fun. She would be loved by her teacher, she would play with her friends. She would go to reading groups and play outside. She would sit in the lunchroom at her little round table and eat her sandwich and probably throw away her carrots. She would live because this is her life. From the moment she slipped from my body, I have been afraid for her. Afraid she'd scratch her face with those long newborn nails. Afraid she'd be hungry. Afraid she'd fall when she took those precarious first steps down the sidewalk. Afraid she'd feel afraid. Such is being a parent. It is scary and I'm convinced there is no way around that. There are three little lives that move about around me every day and they are my world. My world. I don't want them to be scared or fearful or worried. But they will be. Declan's scared of shadows and dark rooms. Quinn worries that she won't be able to fit in enough nursing sessions in a 24 hour period (you think I'm kidding?) and Isabella fears that one day I will die without her. It just happens. We talk about it though. We love fiercely and we talk about it.
That Friday will forever be etched in my memory. That day did something for me though. It reminded me to pause. To hug as much as I want and never care that it may be too much. To love so deeply that they never-for even a second-doubt my feelings for them. That Monday afternoon I stood outside of the cafeteria waiting for Isabella's name to be called. She walked out of the doors, smile on her face, bookbag slung across her shoulder and crooked pigtail swinging in her face. I picked her up and hugged her tight, kissed her and told her how happy I was to see her. I was so happy to see her. She doesn't know why that day was so hard...she doesn't even know that it was hard. But she felt some deep love right there in the grass at elementary school and she should feel that every day. Not because something terrible happened and her mom had a wake up call, but because it's what she deserves. Life is far too precious to take for granted.
I am moving forward. This was a hard lesson for me. But it was a lesson. One on motherhood (again), on letting go (again), a lesson about life and it's preciousness. Fear can not guide us because then we can not live.
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