It was just another day. I had dashed out to grab a late lunch and hurried back to work, hoping to finish some paperwork, eat, and sneak in a quick bathroom break before my middle school students arrived for class.
Using my staff access pass, I entered the building, greeted by silence as I climbed the quiet staircase. I had about 15 minutes before the usual chaos of transitioning classes would flood the halls. I settled into my classroom, ready to dive into my work.
A quick glance at the clock reminded me to take that bathroom break soon. I headed down the hall to the teachers’ restroom, only to find the door locked. That was odd; perhaps there was a maintenance issue. I shrugged it off and started to walk down to the other restroom when I heard our vice principal’s calm voice over the PA system: “Please remember to stay in your rooms.” Her tone was reassuring, so I returned to my classroom, only to realize moments later that the bell had rung, and the hallways remained eerily empty. The bathroom doors were still locked, and I was now aware that we were in the middle of a school lockdown.
Fire drills have been a routine part of school life for years, but since the tragic events at Sandy Hook, lockdown drills have also become a norm—practicing how to hide in case of an intruder, or as some instructional videos refer to it, a “live shooter.” Each drill leaves me with a tightness in my chest, even though I know it’s just a simulation. With so many mass shootings in the news, it’s hard not to think about the worst-case scenario. Typically, I hide with my students, staying calm, and contemplating my plan to protect them if it becomes real.
But today, I was alone. Realizing we were in lockdown, I quickly secured my classroom doors and found my hiding spot. I positioned myself where I could see a computer screen and peek out the window at the front of our building. It was then that I noticed an email from our principal pop up in my inbox. It read, “Remember, only open the door if they use our code word.” A chill ran down my spine. I looked outside and saw police officers entering the building, rifles in hand, ready to search for an intruder. This was not a drill.
Moments later, another email arrived, notifying me that not only was our middle school in lockdown, but the nearby elementary school—where my 5-year-old son, Max, was also attending—was locked down too. Panic surged through me. I quickly typed an email to my family, hands trembling as I conveyed my fear about the situation.
Then I heard helicopters overhead. Suddenly, I heard someone trying to enter my room. “Police,” came the voice, but there was no code word. My heart dropped. Should I say something? Stay hidden? What if he was not the officer I was supposed to trust? I could see him moving around, checking the area multiple times, rifle in hand. I thought of my little boy, just a short distance away, enduring the same terrifying experience.
Finally, I stepped out from my hiding spot, tears streaming down my face. The officer met my eyes and told me that I had chosen a good hiding spot, but to return and stay hidden. Their search continued, and I curled up in a corner, sobbing quietly. Time felt stretched, but in reality, it was under an hour before the search was done.
When the “all clear” announcement came over the PA, I felt numb. Both schools had been assessed, and everyone was safe. My instinct was to rush to the elementary school to scoop up Max and hold him tight. But I held back, knowing that the best thing for him was to remain with his class and teacher, maintaining some sense of normalcy. I trusted that his teacher would comfort them, perhaps engaging them in activities to distract from the fear.
At the end of the day, I raced to meet my son. I fought back tears, putting on a brave face. When I spotted him, he was smiling, eager to play on the playground. I took a deep breath.
I needed to thank his teacher, to ensure she was alright. I wanted to express my gratitude for everything she did for my child and the rest of her class during that frightening situation. Words failed me—how do you adequately thank someone for protecting your child?
In the end, everything is not fine.
For more insights on navigating these intense emotions and experiences, check out this post on our other blog, Home Insemination Kit. It’s crucial that we come together to create safer environments for our children, and resources like Make a Mom can help guide us. If you’re looking for further information on pregnancy and home insemination, Healthline is an excellent resource.
Summary
The experience of a school lockdown highlights the fear and anxiety felt by educators and parents alike. While feelings of dread and vulnerability surface during such times, it’s essential to lean on each other and seek support.