I don't want to answer her questions with "I don't know."

My intent of this entry is not to be "snarky".  I just wanted to share, as a mother, what I was thinking when I went to get Laurel on Friday afternoon...December, 14, 2012.

I can't even feel the steering wheel of my car.  I think I am a little light headed.  What am I supposed to tell Laurel?  God, I wish Ching was picking her up. 

(I wasn't intending on getting Laurel earlier than 5:30 but Rachel needed to go to the doctor, unexpectedly at 3:00.  Ching sent me an e-mail around noon,  wanting me to get Laurel right after the appointment because he wanted her close.  Prior to his e-mailed request, I had no idea what had happened in Connecticut.  As I read the initial reports, I was beyond devastated.  I knew of Sandy Hook--this community was incredibly similar to where my family lives now.  And, Connecticut...I consider Connecticut my third home, after my present state (MA) and my home state (ME).  Connecticut was a state I got my secondary education.  It was a time and a place that I would never trade.  And then the age of the children...so close to Laurel.)

How am I supposed to explain this to her?  Oh God, I hope she doesn't know all ready.  I will assume that she doesn't know.  "Laurel--some people are shitty.  It ranges for small stuff--you know those girls that don't want to include everyone?  Then there are those that are bat shit crazy where you don't know why they did what they did".

I don't want to answer her questions with "I don't know."  I don't want her to know that I never knew anything like this when I was her age.

The worse memory I had was at 8 when President Reagan was shot.  I remember thinking "Who is in charge?"  But other than that, it seemed okay.  As a child, I understood that the President was targeted because he was the President.  I wasn't (the President)...so I would be fine.  No one was out to get me.  But this young man went to an elementary school to shoot young kids.  I don't want Laurel to feel like a target.

She is startled by her shadow.  I don't want to tell her what happened in that school.  After I tell her, she will pee her pants before she will walk into the hallway alone to the school bathroom.  She will never sleep in her own bed.

I think I am getting blisters gripping the steering  wheel.  I will need to tell her.  I probably shouldn't use the word "shitty"

Post Script:  As of Saturday night, Laurel still doesn't know.  But we need to tell her because I don't want her to find out the partial truth on the playground.  Tonight we learned that the children who died were in the first grade.  I saw my husband cry for the first time.  I have never seen him cry.  Tonight, I look at Laurel and try to absorb who she is today because what we have to tell her tomorrow may change her a little bit.