Just another day my mind is at war with itself. These moments seem to be more and more common.
My child and I pull into our town’s recreation department for a fun day camp he’s been looking forward to.
It’s raining and I notice a man standing by the entrance with a dog. Kids and their parents continue to pour into the building. I sign my son in, wish him a jolly good time, leave the building, and head to my car.
I notice the man is still standing there in the drizzling rain. I wonder about him but continue on my way to the parking lot. As soon as my minivan wheels turn onto the main road, my mind flashes into today’s panic . . .
That man standing in the rain — why?
I find the next side street to turn around and head back to the recreation center. As I imagine the man having the worst intentions, I decide I need to know their policy about locking doors to the building. I criticize myself for never thinking to ask that question before.
I realize I’m heading into a tailspin and try to reason with my unsettled stomach . . . but he had a dog; surely it’s fine. I can’t imagine him bringing a dog into the building just to shoot up the place. It would scare his dog. But maybe he doesn’t actually care about the dog. Maybe he would let go of the leash before entering the building, freeing the dog to roam. Maybe he is just using the dog as a decoy to appear harmless as he watches young souls enter the building. Or maybe he does care about the dog, and maybe he’ll put the dog in his car before going in.
I shake my head . . . Forget about the dog; the dog means nothing in this scenario if there are truly ill intentions. If he doesn’t care about people, he likely doesn’t care about what happens to a dog.
I pull into the parking lot; I don’t see the man with the dog anywhere.
Maybe he’s already in the building. He probably wouldn’t get very far with the dog in there though. Maybe he let go of the dog. Ugh, forget about the dog! Maybe he walked away to get his weapon after seeing how many people will be in the building.
I WISH I STAYED IN THE PARKING LOT FOR A FEW MINUTES TO KEEP MY EYES ON HIM.
Maybe he was just meeting his kid there before camp? Gosh, it was so weird he was just standing there by the entrance.
I rush through the doors, peering into rooms on my way to the main office. I sneak by the room my son is in — I don’t want him to see me and question why I’m still there. I find a recreation staff person and ask if they lock the doors after all the kids enter for camp. They don’t; there are more programs that start throughout the day.
“Okay,” I say. I draw in a deep breath.
She looks at me questioningly.
“Okay,” I repeat hesitantly, trying to convince myself that it’s truly okay, but also pondering if I should say more at the risk of sounding like an overly paranoid person.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
I tell her about the man outside earlier. She meets my nervous gaze with a compassionate face and voice, not mocking as I expected; she gets it. She hastily promises to inform her boss, assuring me, “If something felt off to you we’ll definitely address it. Thank you for telling me.”
I thank her and turn around to walk out, unsure of what to really do with myself. I get outside and peek around the back corner of the building. As I walk to my car in the front my eyes dart through every vehicle in the parking lot for a man sitting by himself.
I get in my minivan and I can’t move. The only thing I can do is burst into tears.
I contemplate staying in my car for the whole three hours my son will be there, to keep an eye out for anything fishy. It’s not unreasonable to do so, right? Some time ago it would probably seem quite a bit much. But if my kid’s life is in danger, it’s absolutely not a wild thing to do. But if my kid’s life is truly in danger, shouldn’t I take him out of the camp? It’s most likely nothing. He’s been so excited about this camp. I was excited about it too — it’s perfect for him, and a chance for him to get away for a few hours. But now, it just feels like a stupid camp, one thousand percent not worth his life. I should go get him. How do I explain the reason, though? I don’t want my son living in fear. I don’t want to limit his life because of my anxiety. This isn’t healthy. I can’t let anxiety get in the way of me living my life and preventing my kids from starting to live theirs.
I’m still crying when I call my husband to let out my frustrations, hoping he’ll instruct my paralyzed body as to what to do next.
It is so unbelievably difficult to be a mother in these times. It’s not fair that nonsensical, twisted violence is so commonplace against children now. Everything feels like a risk. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO EVER LEAVE MY CHILDREN SOMEWHERE?
I try to lean into my faith and pray out all my thoughts. I angrily demand safety for my children. That they never have their lives cut short. That they never experience the terror of a real threat. That they don’t have this trauma touch them — ever.
But I know so many kids and mothers haven’t been lucky to have those simple things.
Just a couple of weeks ago my hometown had bomb threats to the whole school district for multiple days. And even more recently, someone called the police falsely stating there was an active shooter at our current district’s high school. Nowhere feels safe. And it’s literally starting to feel like luck if our children make it to adulthood, not the assumed norm.
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO EVER LEAVE MY CHILDREN SOMEWHERE?
