With so much debate about things I have the need to talk about people. I can’t fathom the grief in Newtown. I don’t want to. I cried when I brought my little girl to preschool this morning. My apprehension and fear to drop her off at school surprised me. I didn’t want to get out of the car. I turned around and saw her buckled into her car seat, a big smile on her face, a birthday gift for her friend on her lap, she was the picture of innocence. I didn’t want to alarm her, I didn’t want my fear to infect her. I didn’t want the shooter’s terrorism to win. So I smiled and told her how pretty she looked. My little girl gave me a big toothy smile. I drank it in, taking note of the spaces between her baby teeth, how her red rain coat with its white polka dots was zipped up over her chin.
“This way it doesn’t pinch my neck,” my little girl said.
I laughed at her brilliance. I got out of the car and waited for her to climb down from the back seat. I enjoyed the pressure of her hand as she clasped mine. I felt how strong her grip was. Was she holding on tighter today too?
I saw police standing guard. I am grateful to the Charlotte Jewish Preschool for hiring extra security and I loved having a police presence there. I walked with her into the school, we said, “Hi,” and waved to the police, we took the stairs one flight up to her classroom. She delivered the birthday present to her friend and got busy with helping her teacher.
“Give me hugs and kisses.” I was stalling
“I love you very much.”
“I love you very much too, Mommy.”
I stepped out of the room, not wanting to leave her. I felt helpless.
I stopped to chat with another mother, I felt heat rise and tears burn the back of my eyes as I tried to control myself.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“Me too,” she said.
I passed familiar faces. The school staff did everything to make today feel like any day instead of the day after, for the kids. They were successful. I am grateful for that too.
I reflect on the funerals happening today. I keep thinking about the brave Liza Long. Who wrote the blog about being the mother of a mentally ill son. My heart breaks for everyone. I think Liza does an excellent job being honest. I’d like to show my support by sharing her link The Blue Review. My sincere wish is that mental hospitals help more. There are parents out there screaming for help. Let’s get it to them.