Motivation through Despair

I confront my fear everyday as I take my son to school with his life-threatening allergy. Each day, I take a deep breath and suppress the fear that it may be the day that I get THAT call. The call where they tell me that he's not okay. The call where they try to calmly tell me to hurry to the school, because my son is having trouble breathing, or he is unresponsive, or any other terrible thing that can happen with his allergy. Each day I leave him there & practice not worrying about him all day long.

I've actually gotten pretty good at suppressing that fear. I can put it out of my mind pretty much right as it tries to enter. That's partly because I don't believe living in fear is good for any of us. It's also because of the people I am leaving him with. They care about him. They know him by name. They have all been trained to keep him safe and respond in the event that something terrible happens. They've worked hard to make our school into a safe place for my little 7 year old to be. I trust them. I choose to trust them.

Thursday of last week, I had the strangest feeling. I was on my way to the dentists office, and I had the clear thought come into my mind that "today will be the day I get that call." Ridiculous, I told myself. "Let go of the anxiety, Laura. You can't live in fear." So I did. I pushed that worry right out of my mind & opened up my mouth to let the drilling begin. We talked about Christmas plans and who was going where to visit family. We were making good progress on my mouth, when my phone rang. It was the school, and it was THAT call.

I left the dentists office in a hurry & tried not to drive like a maniac for the 15 minutes it took me to get to the school. I tried to remember to breathe. As I ran in, I found 6 or 8 people all standing around the front office. My little guy was sitting there with the nurse. He was sick, had fallen asleep in class, and was too embarrassed to open his eyes and talk to anyone about it. He was also having a mild allergic reaction, which was easily remedied with Benadryl. While it was all very innocent, he gave everyone a good scare. Had the nurse been at any of the other 3 schools she is responsible for, they would have had to call 911.

I left feeling confused and shaking from the adrenaline that had been coursing through my body. I was grateful he was okay and would just need to rest at home to get over whatever little virus had him feeling yucky. I was hopeful that the staff at school would see this as a silly mistake & not feel upset or angry at the fear and confusion he had inadvertently created. We need their goodwill. That is largely what keeps him safe.

They were gracious. They were kind. They laughed & smiled and felt relieved that it was a false alarm. They felt what I felt & we were all proud that the "dry run" had gone well. Now we know that the protocol works. They followed it so well. Our school is pretty amazing.

Today I dropped my son off at school. I had no worries or trepidation as we all piled into the car for the 10 minute drive. Walking into the school was fine. I hugged my boy and told him I love him, just as I do every day. I knew what kind of people I was trusting him to.

As I left the school, I had a brief conversation with the principal. Something he said stuck to me, or perhaps it was the way he said it. I heard the responsibility he carries today. I heard the weight that every adult in that school is actually carrying. They are there every day, handling problems small and large... Never a dull moment surely, but definitely routine. Each day, these people keep our children safe and help them learn. We trust them to do that. We expect them to do that. We all drive up and drop our kids off, usually exchanging a smile and a wave with the people we are handing them off to & continue on with our day. That's what we're supposed to do, right? That's the routine. We like routines. Routines are comfortable. Routines feel safe.

Then something like this terrible tragedy happens. The routine is suddenly no longer something we can do without emotion or pause. The people we trust our children to each day are suddenly more than just smiling faces waiting by the carpool lane. They are more than gatekeepers to our children's knowledge & growth. The weight they carry becomes very real. Today, I paused and looked them in the eye. I thought about the trust they have earned from us. I thought about the fact that they were there with smiling faces, waiting to greet our children today, of all days. I remembered in my heart, what I so often think in my head... What they do for us, the sacrifices they make, cannot be put into words. We cannot overstate the gratitude we owe.

As each of us grapple with what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary on Friday, I hope we will not allow ourselves to live in fear and despair. We will feel grief and pain. That is good. That means we are human. That means we have compassion & our souls are connected to something more than our own selfish needs. There are issues that need to be addressed. We can talk about violence, weapons, schools, safety plans, and most of all...the mental health issues which are far too often ignored in our country. There will always be necessary changes. There will always be ways to improve. I hope we find ways to work together and make those changes happen. I hope we find motivation through our despair. I hope we are not frozen by fear or grief, but use that energy to do some good or accomplish some goal we have had. I hope we find a way to move forward and honor those who have been lost with more than grief and pain.

I also hope we will remember all of the helping hands. I hope we will remember the people who spend their lives in service to our children, and feel peace. Today I saw them a little more clearly & I was grateful.