December 17, 2012

This was the eerie sight that greeted me as I entered my classroom today.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Friday morning all seemed right with the world.  Or at least not terribly, terribly wrong.  Now I look at the calendar, the classroom, the students and feel a profound sense of loss.

I'm pretty good at hiding these emotions from my sons.  I did cry in the front seat of the car when "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" came on the radio Saturday.   Santa Claus is making 20 fewer stops this year.   Why are they still playing Christmas carols?  Why are people still decorating cookies and trees?  At least around here, few people seem as completely devastated as I feel.

Today when I picked Henry up at school, a parent pulled the door from the outside as Henry was pushing it to exit. I was right behind Henry and told the guy "you have to ring the bell". He just stared at me with incredulity then rushed past me to the gym. Like he couldn't be bothered to wait and who was I to tell him how to pick up his kid.  A minute later I saw him leave with a 4th grader, so I know he was a dad--but seriously? If that can happen so easily and no one cares just 72 hours later....   I don't know...

I've only watched a total of 30-40 minutes of news coverage over the past few days.  I read maybe 100 words online everyday. Just the bare minimum to stay informed. Still I can't shake these terrible feelings. At work and on radio, everyone is talking about the politics of gun control and financial impact of higher security for schools like it's just another issue that the right legislation or lawmaker can solve.  As if the reports out of Connecticut are about high fuel prices or low standardized test scores.  I don't get why it seems that I am the only one who wants to crawl in a hole and mourn the senseless loss of these children and their teachers.

Everyone grieves in their own way, I don't mean to be judgmental.  I just look around and wonder as I watch people here going on with their lives as though Friday never happened.  But it did happen.  Things will never be the same.  Isn't anyone else going to acknowledge that?


  1. I share your feelings. It's been at the forefront of my mind - I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it and can't get back to sleep. My sister called Friday night and didn't know (she lives quite an isolated existence on a small island in Canada). When I told her, she was shaken, but she also said something to the effect of "try not to let it bother you." Which is assinine. 20 babies are dead, and the way they died is unbearably awful. I think we all need to take some responsibility, push for any change that might prevent more of these awful shootings, and not simply go about our lives as if nothing happened.

    When Fiona was in the hospital and near death, I recall reading friends' FB posts about their vacations and niceties of their daily lives. I remember part of me thinking "how can they be going about their normal, lovely lives while I'm facing the potential loss of my baby?" I understood that the world wasn't going to stop because of my crisis, but when my world had stopped, it was strange and painful to see other people's worlds progressing happily. I kindof feel the same here.
    Anyways, that's a longwinded post. I'm just so sorry for those children, their families, and us all.

  2. For years now, at my school, we have gently approached parents who have not signed in at the office and come barrelling down the halls to get to their children. We try to explain how important it is to sign in at the office for the safety of our school as we do not know every parent, nor do the children. We wondered for years why these parents have not understood this simple logic. And yet, I still don't think that this tragedy will impact those same parents who scream and shout at the teachers trying to keep the students safe. Why is everyone in such a hurry that they can't do something simple like sign in at the office?

  3. Lara, I felt like an idiot in Spin Class this morning because the instructor was playing Christmas music and as a cool down she chose the Power of Love by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and tears started pouring down my face because it made me think of those little children and their teachers. It was such a jolly atmosphere in class, but I couldn't join in... I'm thousands of miles away and I get it. I really do. Hold your boys tighter (if that's possible). Lots of love, Jody

  4. I've been shaken to my core Lara. I cried through church on Sunday, I bawled during the Christmas show we went to at Second Baptist Church on Sunday. I cried all day long on Friday; cried at Spec's buying alcohol for my party Friday night. Yet I look around me and life is going on. I go to work and parents are wringing their hands because their kids have one cavity and i think "Seriously? It's a cavity...there are 26 people who will never have the opportunity to eat a Twix and get a cavity." And then I feel judgmental too. You're right...everyone grieves differently and everyone has to process what has happened differently. And truly there are some who really and truly aren't phased by what happened. We can only pray for all those sweet souls lost, hug our babies tighter and hope to instill in them the love and empathy wafting through our souls.