I’ve commented more than once.
How our lives can change with a single phone call.
(Or a single Facebook post, as it may be.)
And while I owe you the rest of the goofy stories from the past few weeks, I can’t ignore the impact of the past few days.
I stayed home Monday. I joked about being mowed down by a horse, but in reality, being knocked airborne and pummeled into the ground twice… bruised more than just my pride. It hurt even driving Itty Bit to school; I returned home and grabbed some anti-inflammatories.
I sat down for a few minutes and replied to a Facebook message. And almost didn’t see the post from a church acquaintance before I closed the screen.
Suspect on the loose.
Running through neighborhoods.
Schools on lockdown.
And suddenly, I recognized the neighborhoods. The school names.
You know that moment when you realize that you’re helpless?
When you are fighting to breathe past the weight on your chest and you just know that you are more than capable of injuring anyone who would put your child in danger?
But you can’t get there. You just can’t get there fast enough.
They told parents to stay home. Avoid bringing more traffic into the area. No one in or out of the schools.
Multiply that “helpless” by tenfold when you cannot hear. Cannot call someone. Cannot listen for updates on the radio. Cannot lipread live uncaptioned tv reports.
I tried. I texted Mr. Daddy. I left my mother a bawling my eyes out voice mail. I frantically Googled news updates and begged for information from local Facebook friends. I knew if I left the house, I would be out of touch to know what was happening.
Within minutes – Facebook friends calling the school for updates on my behalf. Mr. Daddy confirming that all three pastors were in lockdown with the kindergarteners. School in contact with the police. My mom texting that she was on her way to the school.
They said they’d release him if she called from the parking lot. There was concern about me picking him up because I couldn’t hear to be aware of my surroundings.
(And it is at that exact moment, when you worry that your child is in danger, that you would give anything to trade your stupid disability).
So thankful for a Mom like mine. Thankful for the Grandma that she is.
Thankful for the kindergartener sitting in a shopping cart a half hour later comparing Transformer cars.
I keep getting choked up when I touch his little head and think about just how, well… little he is. And how absolutely irreplaceable he is. I’m wiping tears from my eyes as I type this and am grateful for this Reset button to remind me to cherish our family and friends.
So in an early letter to you:
For reaching out to us.
For praying for us.
For praying for my son’s safety.
For making phone calls on my behalf.
For sending text messages and emails.
Thank you to the teachers and staff for herding those 5-year olds downstairs and convincing the kids that reading books with the lights out was an adventure.
Thank you to an amazing Mom who doesn’t hesitate.
Thank you to my Heavenly Father who protected the boy I love.
Thank you to the police who are still looking for the shooter.
And I’m sorry. To the family who lost a young man and to the other two still recovering. Praying that you will find God right where you are at.
And to the shooter? Well, I have a horse I’d like you to meet…