Christmas celebrations have come and gone. New Years celebrations have come and gone. Birthday celebrations have come and gone.
What do I have to show for it on my blog? Nada. Not one photo. I promise it will come.
But before I get to all that, there's something else I need to write about. Something that happened just weeks before Christmas and impacted the nation (and me) in a big way. Before December 14, I had never heard of Sandy Hook Elementary School. I had never located Newtown, CT on a map. That day began as just another day for students, teachers, staff, and families across the nation. We all dragged ourselves out of bed, threw together one of our usual ensembles that appears in our wardrobe rotations once every 2-3 weeks, grabbed a swig of orange juice on the way out the door, and off we went. On my drive to school I was thinking about the usual things: What do I need to copy for my first lesson of the morning? I wish I had taken the time to pack the leftover dinner instead of a measly sandwich for lunch. I need to record my third math class's quiz scores during planning so I can give them back to them today. Maybe I can convince Matt to go out for dinner tonight instead of cooking. Does that morning routine sound familiar to you? I can't help but think that the teachers and staff of Sandy Hook started December 14th in a similar fashion.
It wasn't until mid-afternoon that I sat down at my computer and read the news of the tragedy. My students weren't in the room at the time, and I just sat staring at my laptop with my mouth dropping to the floor. With each line that I read in the news story, my heart grew heavier. I eventually had to stop reading. It was too much for me to digest when I knew I had another hour and a half of teaching ahead of me. If you know me, you know I'm not good at masking my emotions. In order to get through the end of the day, I couldn't read on.
At dismissal, a few teachers were comparing articles that we had read online. We were confused, trying to get the facts. There were so many holes and none of us had the opportunity to turn on a TV yet. I quickly gathered my things and headed straight for my car. I was on a mission to pick up my baby boy and hold him tightly. Very tightly.
Of course when I came home, I turned on the news and called my mom, who I knew would be able to fill me in on what had happened. We were both exchanging what we had heard so far and in between we just went silent in disbelief. With the rest of the world, we were glued to our TVs for days as we listened to reporters piece the events together. We all know the outcome. We all know the tragedy.
I. was. so. sad. I was so heartbroken for the families that lost beautiful young children and for those that last heroic adults. I couldn't listen to the testimonies of surviving teachers and children without crying uncontrollably. What if it were my child? What if I was the teacher? Would I have been as quick to think like these fallen heros?What if my husband was the teacher? You know how the brain works. The wheels just kept turning. As a teacher, as a mother, I was completely heartbroken. That's the only word I can use to come close to describing my emotion.
That was the same weekend where I actually had to get up and leave our church service because I was just crying to loudly. I couldn't stop. The tragedy was mentioned during the time of prayer requests and was again brought up during the prayer. It was a beautiful and sincere prayer for the families of the victims, and again, it stirred my sadness. I thought it would be a few passing tears, but when the ladies in front of me started to turn around, I knew my sobbing was too loud to stay. I walked out of the sanctuary in search of some tisses. Instead, I found a friend. She, too, is a teacher and mother. She had some tissues in her hand and held some out to me. We both let out a cry and hugged. The only words I remember actually saying to her were, "It just makes me so sad." Those words weren't adequate enough to describe the emotion, but I knew she understood.
Then came Monday morning. I followed my usual routine. I drove my usual drive to school. I pulled into our parking lot to find police officers at each entrance of our building. I parked my car and cried a few more tears. I pulled myself together, walked through the door, and down the hall to my classroom. There was a heaviness in the building. My colleagues and I looked at each other and didn't have to say anything at all. We knew what was going on inside each others' minds. What if? I received an email and a handwritten letter from two parents that morning. Simple notes. Thank you for being a teacher. We appreciate you and thought of you this weekend. More tears. Left my classroom and went to the bathroom. The teacher across the hall saw my eyes. He told me to take my time, he would cover my class as long as I needed. I don't know how many minutes passed. A coworker came in to offer support. Instead, we both cried a few minutes longer, eventually put on our teacher faces, and walked back into our classrooms with 24 students waiting to start the day. The show must go on.
On the morning of December 14th, those beautiful children left their mothers' and fathers' arms and were greeted by the outstretched arms of their heavenly Father. They are well. They are forever safe. I pray the families of the victims will find peace, comfort, and strength in the Lord.
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"The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart,
And saves such as have a contrite spirit." -Psalm 34:18
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