I drop them off. Almost every school morning. I drop them off. My them. And I think about it. And I’m not exaggerating one bit. I think of it. Of them. EVERY morning that I do dropoff. My husband thinks I’m crazy. And says he can’t imagine walking around with my brain. And those type of thoughts tumbling about, carried on my shoulders. But I think of them. The ones. Who were dropped off one day… one day two years ago yesterday, and never got to be picked up. Who were dropped off… or got on the bus… or carpooled with friends… or hugged their parents one last time before bedtime the night before… just two weeks before Christmas. And they never got picked up.
For some reason, as I stand outside their schools… because we live in the world we live in and because we live in the times we do… for some reason, I think of them. Not in a can’t-cope-can’t-deal-with-the-anxiety way. Not in a scared way. In a way that reminds me of the importance of goodbyes. Whethere they’re said before bed the night before. Or in the morning before daycare. Or over the phone while on the road for business.
Whatever has already occured that morning. Whatever I’ve been stressed over… getting breakfast in their bellies… getting their bags together… getting them loaded in the car. Whatever energy I’ve given off. Whatever I’ve harped on them about. For that moment… as I get them out… and as they prepare to walk away. To be out of my grasp. And then my sight. I take a moment every morning. Because of them. And I give a hug. The type where I never let go first. And I look into their eyes, as deep as I can. And I tell them something, be you today or go change the world or be an inspiration or you are dynamite. Whatever comes to mind. And then I say, I love you. You know that, right?
Call me crazy.
And then they go. My thems go. And I go. And I have to let go. Because that’s what we’ve signed up for. But there’s always that moment, as I’m watching them walk away, that I think of them… those other children. And their parents.
It’s weird. How lives of people that we never even know can touch ours. And how events that occur, that we don’t actually live, can be imprinted on our hearts. But for some reason, the kids of Sandy Hook are ever in my thoughts. And I appreciate that out of despair, can be born moments where we pause and take life for the moment that we’re living. Out of sadness, can be born gratitude. And out of fear, can be born courage to fight another day … simply because we get to.
They remind me daily of the importance of goodbyes. And the beauty in hellos. And of the gift of everything in between.
