Lila: Mom guess what? I sit the closest to the door in the classroom so every time somebody knocks on the door I get to open it.
Me: Cool!
Lila: You know what else that means? If there’s ever a school shooter he will shoot me first.
This was a very quick, matter-of-fact conversation that Lila and I had this morning as she was heading out the door to school. A conversation about the potential of being shot to death at school.
How do you respond to something like that? How is that even a conversation that I have to have with my nine year old? How was she so nonchalant about it?
I wanted to cry. (I didn’t.)
I wanted to hug her. (I did.)
I wanted to tell her that that would never happen. But I couldn’t because it does happen. Far too often.
Writing has always helped me process my feelings. It soothes me when I’m upset. I’m glad that I decided to bring this blog back to life so I have somewhere to do it. So here goes…
Never once when I went to school did I ever think about the possibility of getting shot. It’s crazy to me that our kids do think about it.
I remember when the girls were in first grade they came home from school one day and told me about some training they did in class. If there was an active shooter at school and they weren’t in their classrooms when it happened, they were supposed to find a place to hide. When I asked where they should hide, they said “a trashcan,” like it was the most normal thing in the world. I was floored, but even that didn’t affect me the way that Lila did this morning.
The kids rarely bring the topic up on their own, so it was completely out of left field and I wasn’t expecting it. This happened hours ago and she probably hasn’t thought about it since the words left her mouth. Yet I can’t stop thinking about it. The truth of it. The possibility of it. How disgusting it is to even have to consider it.
At first I was heartbroken and sad. I couldn’t stop looking at her and how beautiful she is. That somebody could extinguish her beautiful soul on a whim.
I went to work, and had a hard time concentrating. I tried to think about all of the things I still have to do before Christmas. I could only think about that one thing.
I texted with a friend about how I couldn’t stop thinking about what Lila told me. I felt like I was in some kind of shock, I think I still am. I don’t want to think about my kids going to school and never coming home. Sure, there’s all different ways that it could actually happen, but that particular way is so disturbing. The terror they’d experience as it happened. The complete fear. Seeing things that regular adults should never have to see, let alone a child.
Or maybe it was so hard to hear because it didn’t seem to bother her. She was stating a simple fact. It is a possibility in her world. It is what it is, as my dad would say.
I hate that our children’s reality has become this. I posted about our conversation on Facebook, and had a friend tell me her high school daughter told her that she thinks about it every day. Another was saddened that her child could so easily explain the steps for what to do if there was an active shooter at school. Others, who are teachers, expressed the fear of not being able to protect all of our little ones should it ever happen. Lots of friends said they were tearing up just thinking about it.
Two friends’ comments stood out to me. One said that he respected her situational awareness. It was a great point and I am proud of her for understanding (even if at a very basic level) that it could happen.
And the friend I mentioned I was texting said something that helped calm me down. She said: It’s a harder reality for us to accept because we have known different. They don’t know different so they aren’t struggling with it.
I don’t want my kids to worry or obsess about this craziness happening, but I am glad to know that they know what to do if it does happen. I just wish it was something that none of us would ever have to think about.
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