I am on the bus this morning, and I get the following text from Kelsea:
“So they think our school is gonna blow up.”
The world stops for one split second.
I call her.
She doesn’t answer.
The bus is speeding away down Highway 36 and I am thinking how I have to get off and get to her, to her school. Totally impractical. What am I going to do, run there? I’m twenty miles away.
I call my ex to ask him what’s going on, and he looks online and finds that a suspicious device – pipes, wires, and a battery – was discovered on a bus and brought into the school by the bus driver. The school staff took it back outside and called police. The students have been moved into the auditorium and the gymnasium. I tell him to go to the school. He tells me not to worry and goes bowling.
I am sitting on the bus holding the top of my head to keep it from flying off. Moving the students into the auditorium and the gymnasium puts the entire school in two places, so that if someone truly is evil, they can just blow up those two places where they know students will be sent in the event of just such an emergency. My imagination is colliding with thoughts of Columbine and New Town.
Kelsea calls me from the auditorium. She is fine. She is seeing her friends. She is overjoyed that she won’t have to take her algebra final this morning, because she wasn’t ready for it. She too wonders why they’ve just put everyone in two places instead of evacuating them all. She says she will stay in touch. I tell her I love her.
I know my daughter. She will do anything to save others before she saves herself. She has always been this way. Her future career choices reflect his attitude. It is something that, as a mother, I just have to live with.
But I do not want to be one of those parents whose child does not come out.
I sit on the bus and try not to panic. I have never really felt this way before. All these feels are swirling around inside of me: fear, panic, anger, anxiety, that feeling that I will do anything to get to her, and do anything to someone who hurts her. I feel a desperate helplessness as this bus takes me farther and farther away from my baby girl. Tears well up and I try to stifle them. Yes, helpless. I have always known how much I love my daughter, and how I am so blessed by having had her in my life for any time that the Great Spirit chooses to grace me with. But I never really had a glimpse of losing her. Not even a glimpse.
One of my friends at work calls this “catastrophic thinking.” I know I have this unfortunate tendency, inherited from my father. It’s a hard one to control, especially as a mother.
Half an hour later, I get a text from her.
“So it was a science fair project. Awkward.”
I spend the rest of the morning feeling like I am coming out from being underwater, trying to ease the tension in my neck, trying to return to a sense of normal.
I hope that kid who misplaced his science project gets an A. He certainly taught me something about myself today.
8 comments
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May 20, 2013 at 7:44 pm
slpmartin
What a horrible way to start the week…sorry your had to go through that, but glad it was just a science project.
May 20, 2013 at 7:57 pm
Seasweetie
Thanks, slp. Me too!
May 21, 2013 at 5:45 am
SuziCate
When it comes to our children and danger love sends us into panic mode…so glad Kelsea and the other children are ok. Can you imagine how that kid who left his/her science project behind must feel?
May 21, 2013 at 8:04 pm
Seasweetie
I know, SuziCate. I seriously do wonder about his grade.
May 21, 2013 at 8:02 am
lucindalines
Just another example of what better communication would do for this world. Had the parents of that child communicated with the school about the project, or even the bus driver, no one would have had such a panic. They say people in a small town are nosey and gossips, it sure helps to avoid those things. Sorry that you had the experience, but it doesn’t hurt to put together a plan about those worst case senerios. Hope you have a great day today.
May 21, 2013 at 8:05 pm
Seasweetie
If I can detach from the fear, it was an interesting academic experience, lucinda.
May 21, 2013 at 6:16 pm
thesinglecell
As a non-mom, I find your daughter’s first text message cruel (not on purpose, I’m sure) and her second hilarious. But I understand your hell, your fear, your worry. I’m glad all turned out safe and that – possibly other than the centralizing of students – everyone seemed to know exactly what to do. Except the bus driver. Hello?
May 21, 2013 at 8:05 pm
Seasweetie
I know, right? Kelsea and I talked about it last night, and she said, “Do you really think I’d have sent you a text if I actually thought the school was going to blow up? Geez, Mom.”