Two years later...

This week marked the second anniversary of the school shooting. Though, I can’t say that I think back on that day every minute of every day, it was on my mind this year as soon as we entered the month of May. In many ways, this year was more difficult than last year. The emotional numbness I’d subjected myself to was still firmly in place last year, but I’d decisively lifted that numbness last October when I’d decided I wanted to live again and feel all the emotions that came with living, even the pain and sadness that are bound to come.

In some ways I’d prepared myself for this day. I knew my feelings were stronger than they should be after two years since people always say that time heals everything. I knew I hadn’t healed completely yet. I can tell when I walk down the halls of school, and I see teachers who leave cracks in their doors because they automatically lock, and they become frustrated having to continually open them for students. The anger that runs through me is just a little too strong. I wish for their ignorance of bad things happening with open doors. I resent their feeling protected in the cocoon of their classroom. Instead, I’m constantly aware of my door. I open it and close it each time behind a student. I lose it occasionally on a student who attempts to leave it open so they can just come right back inside. I do not feel safe with open doors. That innocence was taken from me.

I realized the day before that it was all running a little too close to the surface, but time marches forth whether you are ready for it or not, and hard days arrive. One of my students brought it up in my class at the exact time that the student had walked into my room two years earlier, and for the rest of the day, my thoughts continued to return to it. I don’t know at what time of the day I realized that my son’s awards night would be held at the same school, but it took hold, and by the time I reached home that day my insides had begun to shake.

I’d have to walk through the doors of that gym, and though the shooting had happened in my classroom, it was the gym that caused me dread. I’d sat in the bleachers at the end of that day two years ago, having reassured myself that it was some random event, that it had not been personal. I’d sat in the bleachers of that gym as Sheriff Craig Webre had read my name from the student’s journal. In that moment when my name had slipped from his lips, what had happened had become real. I’d begun shaking that day, too. After remaining strong all day, it had hit me that my room had been a target, not chosen by chance. My denial had crumbled as I sat in those very same bleachers I’d have to watch my son receive an award from on the two year mark.

So I walked into the gym alone, on a day that no one speaks about anymore as if by not talking about it, it never occurred. (Sorry, there’s that anger again.) I made it to the top of the bleachers on shaky legs, but managed to keep my composure. It was a moment of sadness so weighty that my lips could not rise in a smile, though I greeted my children after not seeing them for several days.

The gym looked different. There were new posters. The school had hosted Challenge Day and remnants of messages remained on the walls. In big letters staring at me were the words BE THE CHANGE.

How fitting? Isn’t that what I had attempted to do since that day? Even in the numbness, I’d known that breaking down would do no one any good. If my students in the class that day were looking to me to see how to handle it, then I’d return the next day and show them how to do it with strength and compassion. If students ask about it today, I know that what I need to do is show them what they can do to make students never reach the point where they want to bring a gun to school. And maybe, I need to be the one to bring about change. Even if everyone pretends that it never happened, it doesn’t mean I ever will or ever could. I will continue to tell my story when it needs to be told because denial and ignorance only means that it will happen again.