As I complained to myself inside my head about whether this might be attention seeking behavior (common in a child on the autism spectrum) or the fact that my day might be side-swiped by a trip to the urgent care that takes our insurance three towns over, I called his father to inform him of the accident.
Once I got my baby boy in my arms I did my own assessment while listening the school nurse go over the steps to supervise him for a concussion (little does she know about my recent head injury and resulting brain trauma). As we drove away from school at 11am this morning his 'normal' antics of movie-talking and quick-witted comebacks began and I knew my boy did not require a visit to the ER, just a little tlc and emotional codding, although I have been checking his pupils hourly.
To arrive home to my desk to the news of people losing their children I kept my empathetic grief to myself. He needed me. As much as my heart can't fathom the loss of those families, I kept on my day and my responsibilities as a mommy. My baby boy is fine with a small bump on his head and will sleep in his bad safely in my home tonight.
Post after post of "how to help your child through times like this", condolence tributes and even more posts about gun control it was time to go fetch the teenager and I knew that he would then hear the news of the day. It didn't take her ten seconds in the car to start speaking of the "17 college students that were killed this morning" and normally I don't jump right in but permit my kids to banter to see what they know and gauge an appropriate response in a home where two teenagers and one ten year old reside. I didn't let her continue, but stopped her mid-sentence and even pulled over the car to say "No Madi, not a college. It was an elementary school. He killed kindergartners. He killed peoples' babies." I could no longer hold back the tears and my baby boy reached over to squeeze my arm, as he always does when he sees me become emotional, which is not very often.
The following sermon ensued:
"There will come a day when you two will become parents; you will be a daddy and you will become a mommy. Every time a mother, a parent, sends their child off to kindergarten they cry. You see, that's still your baby but it is the end of their constant time with you. The day they leave for kindergarten causes tears because you realize it is the end of your baby's innocence. It is the end of their constant interaction. You cry because you are sending your baby off to become part of the world. When they leave you it cause physical pain yet you know it's a necessary step. I can't imagine a parent that doesn't cry on the first day of kindergarten." My eyes were full of tears by the time I paused and took a breath. "These parents of these kindergartners will never see their children finish elementary school. They will never see their children in their first holiday play. Their babies will not bring home playground injuries. They won't have Rubbermaids full of artwork and 'when I grow up I want to be a...' essays. These parents will never experience their daughters filling their ears with endless high school drama. Their babies will never graduate and go off to college.
"I simply cannot imagine the pain of going to school to pick up the dead body of your child." By this point I could hardly speak and I think my words contradicted my actions as I saw two of my children stunned silent as my empathetic response escaped my mouth and as tears streamed down my cheek. Maybe I can imagine?
Today I am thankful that I make the choice to be an at-home mom; to be here for every annoying nurse's phone call, for every teacher's conference, to volunteer weekly in the classroom and for every adorably annoying assembly I will continue to sit through each holiday season.
"Pick your battles wisely. Don't dwell on the past but learn from your mistakes. Plan for the future but live a day at a time."
Talking with your kids
Pick your battles
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