Two months ago, life found me excited for Chloe, Adam, Shuan, Mirai, and many, many more. I was enjoying time in my kitchen exploring different foods from different cultures, and showing the boys how much fun olympic cheering can really be. And then there was a shooting. And I turned the tv off and walked away for a long time. I was exhausted, and found myself in such a place of hopelessness. It took a long time as a young mom to work thru all my anger, fear, and frustration. It was in my moment of accepting the reality of protecting L&L has challenges that I will never be able to control. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my back up against the door protecting them, but I am not giving up just yet. In a moment of healing these words came to me.
Wednesday, March 13th, the boys’ school had a seventeen-minute prayer service for the students of Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School located in Parkland, FL. I was a bit nervous when the email came home; not because of the service, but because my children are nine and seven, and I never said anything about the Parkland shooting to them. Yes, I know it’s a very real possibility they know, although neither one has said anything about it, and so I am firm in the “they don’t know, or don’t know enough” to ask me about it.
It’s not the asking that I am afraid of. It’s when I answer, how will they respond?
Earlier this year, LT asked me how babies are made, and instead of just going with “When I man and a woman love each other and the moment is right, they have a baby.” I went full in. I went anatomically correct about sex. I was in deep, and by the time I realized I was it was too late to stop. I couldn’t just say, “Buddy, forget everything I just said,” and then start with “when I a man and a woman love each other.” His eyes were so big, he was grossed out and he just looked and me and said, “Ok.” One day, I hope I can remember that, because when the day comes that we are having the legit talk, I hope I can just go all in with him, again.
Last week we had a discussion on the way to school about hurricanes, and why when they hit our area their name changes to a tropical depression. I really love these convos on the way to school because I am always using hand gestures to explain things. Last fall it was the difference between rotation and revolution around the sun. Not enough hands, it was challenging.
Reality has hit too close to home. One day, when they ask me “why would someone go into a school, and shoot someone?” I can’t give them an honest answer. In their eyes, I am the mom, and I know it all. Well, almost all. LT thinks I don’t know third grade subtraction, but I know how to borrow and carry, friend. What I don’t know is how to explain someone getting a hold of a semi-automatic weapon, or 42 of them for that matter, and inside they are so broken they believe the solution is to kill – classmates, or concert goers, or movie watchers, or people of faith, or anyone. What about those students who believed they were safe in school? For some, school may be the only safe place in their daily lives. Where are they safe now?
I. DON’T. KNOW.
What’s worse? What’s worse, is the day I drive my children to school and they believe they are no longer safe.
My sons live a “privileged life”. Chef and I are able to provide for their needs, including a safe home, school, church, and sports activities, etc. The houses of their grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins are safe. They are safe in the Bahamas, in NYC, and Maine. They are safe in the airport, on a train, on a bus. They are safe.
In my usual fashion, I was on the phone with my mom expressing my anxiety about the prayer service, and what to tell the boys versus what not to tell the boys. And you know what my mom said? She can be a real put-you-right-back-to-reality mom. “By the time I was LT’s age, the President had been assassinated, Martin Luther King, Jr assassinated, and then the President’s brother, the democratic nominee for president was assassinated.”
Where is that damn frowny/angry/mad emoji face? Because that’s exactly how I felt. It wasn’t that she was putting me in my place, I think as a mom, she knew exactly how I felt, but she was opening my eyes to the fact that protecting them from the outside world isn’t a possible and forever task. At some point they will know, and when they ask, I want them to know that I did everything I could to make a difference.
I didn’t tell the boys jack. I picked them up and asked them how the service was.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
I kept driving home.
The day is coming when the conversations and math (I have to tap out at limits) will be harder, more challenging. When they arrive, I hope my sons’ know how many people, including their mom, raised their voices to say, “Enough.”