For us, Friday morning started out with absolutely bucolic splendor. The skies were crystal blue, accented by puffy, white, post-rain clouds. The delicious chill in the air finally heralded December-appropriate temperatures. The kids and I left the house just a bit early, with time to spare to stop by our favorite doughnut store to get some before-school treats.
Little did I know ... heck, little did anyone of us know ... that such special moments with my little ones would, without warning, suddenly seem so remarkably special.
Like most people, I cannot begin to wrap my head around the concept of 20 small children being gunned down in what should have been the safe confines of their classroom at school. I do not know these children, their families, or their brave and heroic teachers who did all that they could to shield their charges from flying bullets and sheer, unadulterated terror. I cannot begin to fathom the bone-crushing pain that these families are enduring, as their children are sent to heaven. I am gutted by the notion that, for these families, Christmas, Hanukkah, and the New Year will simply never be happy holidays again.
My work day at HMC was, I admit, pretty much a wash once I began to learn of the slaughter that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School, about 2,816 miles away from my home. Of course, I thought instantly of David and Elizabeth, and their friends, and their friends' families, and the wonderful teachers and staff at Foothill Country Day School. At one point, I looked at my clock, saw that it was 11:45 a.m., and decided that would be a perfect time to drop everything, go over to the school, find the kids, and hug them.
I pulled into the school's parking lot about 10 minutes later, and found Elizabeth and her class, enjoying a post-lunch activity with their wonderful athletics coach. Miss B (the coach) saw me in the doorway, and when I pantomimed the motion of "hug," she knew instantly why I was there. Obviously, Miss B and others were aware of the national tragedy unfolding in Connecticut. She said, "Elizabeth! Your mommy is here!" Elizabeth looked excitedly at the doors, saw me, and said, "MOMMY!" And she ran to me. We shared a quick embrace, I planted a kiss on her silky blond hair, and she went merrily back to her friends to complete the day's lessons.
I paused just for a moment, breathless with the notion that 20 families in Newtown, CT, would never again hear the beautiful sound of their child calling their name, feeling the warmth of their child's hug, or even see the quizzical look in their child's eyes, asking, "what the heck are you doing here?"
Then, it was time to find David. I looked at my watch and saw that it was just after 12 noon. His class would be starting their lunch break now. Sure enough, I saw David and his classmates leaving their classroom, happily skipping to the lunch line to pick up their hot lunch for the Day. "Hi, Mrs. Hastings!" a chorus of happy voices sang out as I started walking toward them. "Hi, Mommy!" said my little man.
I gave him a quick squeeze, asked for permission to kiss him in front of his friends, and let him go about his day.
The kids usually leave school at 5:00 on Fridays so that they can take part in an after-school chess class. I decided that pulling them out early would not solve anything, so I went back to work and followed CNN the rest of the day.
At 5:00 I was at the school, in my car and waiting for my little ones to come out to the pick-up area. They bounded into the car. And then I told them what happened in Newtown.
I was stunned and, quite frankly, proud of David's first question: "The gunman is dead, right?" he said, with a swagger in his voice that matched my vitriol for the &*$%#@ who pulled the trigger in Sandy Hook.
"Yes, buddy, the guy is dead."
And then Elizabeth asked the $64,000 question for which there is no answer: "Why would he do that?"
We went about our evening, running a few errands to get ready for the cookie party we were having at the house the next afternoon. We stopped by Costco for a quick slice of pizza (for Elizabeth and me), and as we were browsing around, Elizabeth spotted a toy she's coveted for quite some time: a Pillow Pets Dream Lights plush toy.
"Mommy! They have Dream Lights!" she called out, and promptly began reciting the song played in the commercial that is forever streamed on the Nickelodeon channel.
"Mommy! Can we get this? It will help me not be afraid of any monsters in my room," she said.
A quick pause, and then I asked her, "which one would you like?" absolutely speechless with the profundity of her statement. Were it only as simple as having a soothing light in a dark, dark world to ensure that the Boogey Man will forever stay the hell away from my babies.
