Parenthood is Scary

We had a stark reminder last week that no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, we cannot guarantee the safety and security of our children.  It is completely out of our hands, whether they are under our roof, at school, in the car, or out with friends.  It's a horrifying revelation.  These are our children, and we're supposed to be able to protect them at all costs. We promise them from the moment of conception that we will never let anything bad happen to them.  Reality can be a real jerk sometimes.  You realize just how tenuous life is.

In the blink of an eye, our lives could've changed drastically.

There was a situation at Noah's school that caused the police and administration to put the school on lockdown.  Information was limited, and I'm not sure I would've known anything if Noah hadn't texted me.  We did not begin receiving information from the police and school until the situation was resolved.  I'm grateful it was resolved safely, but those few hours in between Noah's first text and the phone call from the school were terrifying, to say the least.  

I prayed, and I prayed hard. I had to actively push back against the what ifs and the thoughts of news stories from other similar situations, about the parents who wait for that last bus that never comes, for their child who doesn't come home.  I held it together, and did not cry until after we got Noah's "It's over, please come get me" text.  At a time when we should've leaned on each other, I lashed out at Shawn. I told Noah that if it came to it, hide.  Find a safe place and stay there.  Just hide.  Shawn told him to protect himself and his friends.  I want my child alive and safe, not a martyred hero.  We just kept telling him that we love him.  When I tell you it was a terrifying experience, I'm not exaggerating or overdramatizing.  I was terrified.   As a mom, there's no other word for it.  I was helpless and everything was completely beyond my control.  I could not do anything to keep my child safe.  I could pray, and I had to leave the rest up to God.  I had to trust God, the police and the school administration and staff.

When I went to pick Noah up, I, along with other panicked and anxious parents, were met by police guarding the doors, armed with assault rifles and wearing body army.  These were the very same doors I had dropped him off at less than 4 hours before.  These were the doors where I had prayed for his day.  The doors I watched him walk through to make sure he went into school safely, realizing he's a high schooler and I really don't have to do that anymore.  We were met by another police officer taking the names of our children, releasing just a few at a time from the gym where they had them all corralled for safety.  I prayed with another mom, a complete stranger, and we held hands until our boys came out.  

I can't even begin to describe the fear I felt that day.  I can't begin to describe the relief I felt when I saw Noah and was able to hug him.  I held on to him and I did not want to let go.  I can't begin to properly express my gratitude for the police, teachers, staff and administration, our friends who prayed and stayed in touch with us, for the technology that allowed us to stay in contact with our son. I am grateful Shawn was working from home that day, I'm grateful I had Ezra to snuggle, and I'm beyond grateful for a Father who loves Noah more than I ever can.

I know the police and administration are receiving a lot of criticism right now for the way they handled that day.  I only have gratitude. They did their jobs. They kept our children safe.  They reacted to a credible threat, and kept the kids safe.  I got to tuck all three of my kids into bed that night, and that's what matters most.  At the end of the day, we all had our children back, safe and sound.