Today I was lucky. It was the twisted dark American luck when you fear your children may be taken from you through gun violence, but instead you get to pick them up, hug them deeply and explain why they had to sit quietly against a wall, lights off and doors locked at a place they are supposed to be safe. We received an automated call saying that our school in Southwest Portland was on lockdown due to a credible threat, and that we should stay away from campus. For one hour, I felt the paralyzing fear that thousands of other American parents have experienced: the fear of losing your most loved humans who are only a couple miles away, but can’t be reached or touched; the fear of knowing your children are scared but you can’t be there to comfort them; the fear that comes with the realization that control is an illusion and your fate rests in the hands of circumstances unknown. I didn’t breathe for an hour. But I am lucky today. American lucky. Thousands of parents have lived that breathless hour.
My heart breaks for the parents who are forever breathless. We have had enough.