2 minutes

Yesterday, I walked my daughter to school and thought how warm the day was and how beautiful the trees looked.  My 2 year old sat quietly in her stroller, licking a lollipop, and we silently walked home.  The only noises were my feet crunching on the fallen leaves.  Every once in a while, we get a glimpse of that stillness and it gives off such a feeling of contentment.  I silently counted my blessings.

45 minutes later, I get a text that the school my daughter is at, is on lockdown.

There are no words.

You hear the word, “LOCKDOWN” and you basically lose your mind.

Immediately I think of Newton and Columbine and I feel panic.  I feel helpless. 

My daughter is 4.  She is a baby.  She is so innocent.  I cry silent tears, clutch the phone with shaky hands and call the classroom.  The teacher answers and tells me that they don’t know anything, but nobody is allowed in or out.  She tried to soothe me but my only solace would be seeing my child.  That’s it.  End of story.  My only relief would be seeing her!

The lack of information was what drove the fear like a rocket shooting through the sky without direction.  As information gathered, my fears lessened.  But still, I did not relax until I held her.  When I did, relief flooded me but a piece of fear stayed with me, nipping at my ear, speaking slowly and softly, “we are all susceptible,” it said.  We are susceptible to being at the wrong place, at the wrong time.  We are not immune to it.  We can live in a quiet town and do the right things.  We can be good and happy and quiet in our living.  We can decide not to take risks; to live simply.  But, it just doesn’t matter.  Our lives can change in the span of a second.   If we walk in the middle of New York City at 3am alone, or walk our child around the block to school, anything can happen.  If I’m being honest, that is the scariest thought of all.    

Everything ended up being fine.  The lockdown was a precaution based on a threatening phone call directed at another elementary school in town, but that feels insignificant to me.  What feels significant is the fact that my quiet contented life, spun out of control for only 2 minutes.  But that was enough.  2 minutes was all it took for me to realize what matters the most in life.  Forget about the little things that bother us.  Forget about the fact that my 2 year old cried all morning.  Forget about the fact that I still have to call my bank to resolve a check problem.  Forget about the fact that I still haven’t picked up soap for the kitchen sink.  Insignificant.  What matters more than anything, is our children; our little innocent children.  We don’t want to lose that innocence just yet.  Not yet.  Not now.  There is plenty of time for that.  I want to keep them close and safe.  I want to hug and squeeze and love. 

I really hate the people that threaten that.

So, after I gave my daughter a big squeeze, I sat at the table, stared off into space and ate Halloween candy.  I looked out the window and ate one peanut butter cup after another.  It actually helped.  My girls dressed up in pretty white dresses and smiled and laughed.  I counted my blessings.  For 2 minutes I might have felt helpless, but each minute after that, I will be sure to make it count.