Both the Columbine school shooting and the movie Bird Box evoke some of the same emotions in me.
Some people will read that statement and feel like there's no way it can be true, some people may view it as disrespectful, but give this mama's heart a chance to explain.
I was in my freshman year of college when the school shooting at Columbine took place. In that moment, much like later during 9/11, a level of blind trust and security was ripped away. I experienced my school years without a lockdown drill and never had even the most fleeting thought that I was in danger at school. School was a safe place.
Now, though, as a parent, things have changed. My children have bi-yearly lockdown drills. My children practice how to behave if a shooter enters their school. My children never attended a single day of school without me understanding this threat.
I remember when Reily was in kindergarten and had her first lockdown drill. She told me about it when she arrived home that day, and she relayed to me how she was scared and crying. Now, there was never a real threat, and the children were safe, but how do you explain to a five-year-old that they need to be prepared? That they need to know what to do...just in case. How do you explain that sort of evil to them when they see nothing but goodness?
In the days that followed, we talked a lot about how her teachers would keep her safe and how I would keep her safe if she were with me, despite the reality of limited control in those sorts of situations. And in those moments, when things got too serious, I lied. I have no regrets about lying and still do it to a degree now that she's older because I recognize that there are too many variables, that there are too many things out of my control, that ultimately I'm not in control and can't guarantee that she will always be safe, but she needs that promise. It's now the same promise I make to my son, has his daycare practices what to do in case of a lockdown.
And it's that inability to guarantee security that pushed me to tears while watching Bird Box.
The movie wasn't particularly scary, more unsettling. I did appreciate the fact that they never showed what the "thing" looked like, as our imaginations are far more terrifying than anything Hollywood could ever produce, but all in all, it was a decent suspense movie without being particularly "scary".
So why then did I find myself weeping during the last third of the movie and shaken for hours after it was over?
The movie embodied some of my greatest fears. Not suicide. Not death. Not violence.
It was instead found in the moments where Sandra Bullock's character talked to the children, and the empathetic connection I had with the characters that followed. In those moments, I was forced to a mental place that I usually try to avoid. Within the confines of the movie, I was forced to recognize that there will be times when my children are afraid and when I won't be able to comfort them because bad things will happen outside of my control. It's an unnerving feeling that makes me feel both weak and inadequate.
It's those moments in the movie that touched me and drew the images of children huddled under desks in a library at Columbine High School. Because in those moments, children were afraid. Children's parents couldn't protect them. Children were exposed to horrors they never should've experienced, and all of those parents felt helpless.
Because that's the fear of a parent. That our children will find themselves in the last few moments of their lives, afraid...wanting their mom, and we won't be there.
So every day, many of us experience something older generations never really did. I'm not saying they didn't worry, and they weren't afraid or even that they didn't have things to be scared of that we no longer do, but each morning when I pull up to the curb, and my child gets out of the car, I pray. I pray that she has a good day, that she learns a lot, and that no one walks into her school with the intent to cause harm.
Because my child deals with a lot of anxiety and sometimes cries for hours at night, because she is afraid to go to school - afraid of what can happen - I somehow have to figure out how to tell her things will be okay, even though I know that's not something I can guarantee. The facts are, she still needs to sleep, and she needs to learn to live her life beyond fear and trust that no matter what, God is in control, and even if the worst possible thing happens, He has her.
Next year, Mason will also start school. And for a little boy so brave and bold when it comes to adventure and play, he's terrified of the dark and incredibly shy. He loves fiercely, and I know that as he gets older, I will face many of the same questions I have and am facing with Reily.
So I steel my heart for another day and live, but that fear...the fear that made me cry during a Netflix original thriller...is never really gone. It sits there and waits. Because it doesn't need the fuel of an actual event to let loose, it just needs an easy trigger to ignite into flames that consume because it's always atthe edges of my thoughts.
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