This morning, we packed up for a weekend at my mother in law’s lakehouse. My kids always love when my mother in law is in town. She’s a lovely person, and our weekends together often involve a lot of fun time jumping off the dock into the lake, or playing board games at her kitchen table. For us, time at the lake with Barbara is our escape, and we know how privileged we are to be able to have an escape like this. I know how privileged I am to have a mother in law I get along with, especially given how awful my last one was.
On the ride here, my son confessed to me that he’s afraid of going to school. He’s afraid that when I’m not with him something bad could happen. He’s eight, and he’s always had trouble articulating what exactly it is that gives him anxiety. He did the best he could. He told me he was afraid that I couldn’t keep him safe when he was at school.
My kids have a traumatic history. Together, we escaped domestic violence. They’ve always known that mom will do everything to make sure nothing bad happens, but they’ve also known that bad things do happen, and that it doesn’t matter how careful we are, we can’t always predict or prevent them.
They’ve also seen me navigate terrifying situations calmly, and they’ve seen me stand up and keep them safe. They’ve seen me deescalate situations, and remove them from dangerous ones calmly and patiently. They trust me, because I’ve earned their trust, and that’s a responsibility I take seriously.
My kids have never seen me fight. They’ve never seen me physically restrain someone outside of practice or training. They know I can, but they’ve always seen me use my words. They’ve seen me talk down a man with a gun pointed at me. They’ve seen me talk down screaming and angry teenagers. They’ve seen me talk down people in the midst of mental health episodes. I always hope beyond all hope that they won’t have to see these things, but given the area we live in, and given the kind of life we’ve chosen for ourselves, it happens.
I know my kids are aware of the Texas elementary school shooting. I know this isn’t the first time they’ve heard of such things. I know my youngest, especially, is terrified of the possibility. I know I can’t protect them from everything, and I know that when he told me, in the car, that he was scared, he was looking for me to reassure him, so I did. I lied. I told him that no matter what, no matter where he was, no matter how far apart we were, I would come for him. He just had to stay calm, help others stay calm, and wait for me. He asked me if I was scared, and I told him of course I was. I’m always terrified. But you know what? Being brave means being afraid and doing the thing anyway, and I have two beautiful and brilliant children to be brave for.
I told them I loved them so much, and that my love for them gave me superpowers. It made me strong enough to overcome any fears I have, and that no matter what, I would always come for them. I would tear through walls with my bare hands if I had to, but that no matter what, I would always come for them, they just had to be brave, be calm and wait for me.
I don’t know how much of what I said was a lie and how much was truth. No matter what I will come for them, but whether or not I’ll get there in time? I don’t know if I can control that. I don’t know if I’ll make it in time if someone decides to show up at their school, angry with life, and ready to take theirs. I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself if I didn’t make it in time.
May we all find peace with what we’ve allowed to happen.
May we all find peace with what we’ve done.
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