Woe

I held myself together.  All-day. I have learned to do that over the years.  I have worked with young children in public schools for a while now.  I have had to call child services many times for the things kindergarteners have told me and shown me.  I have held and rocked children who come to school traumatized by what they experience at home. When kids process their trauma it is important that the teacher keep their emotions in check.  A teacher must be safe, in control. It is retraumatizing to share your feelings with a safe adult only to have them become upset.  

But today was different. The principal at the local school where I substitute was murdered over the winter break.  Today was the first day back from that break. Today I got to sit with an entire second-grade class of traumatized kids as they processed the murder of not only their principal but her beloved therapy dog that she brought to school every day. 

“So what do you know about what happened?”  The counselor brought in to help us navigate this, led with this question.  I prayed that the children knew very little. But it had been almost two weeks since the incident. The children had been home for the winter break and a few knew all the sordid details.

“I know that Principal L was shot by her husband.”

One young girl, already near tears, fell into a slump and sobbed.  A boy, who thought he had known all there was to know, teared up.  

Another boy said with disbelief, “Her husband?!”

“But my mom says she probably died peacefully because she was in her bed.  She was probably asleep because if she wasn’t she would have run away.”

“I heard a cat was killed too.”

“And Sasha.” (the dog)

“Wait, wait.  Sasha was killed?  No!” Tears pool in another boy’s eyes.  

“And then he tried to kill himself but he is still alive.  If he lives he will go to jail forever. My mom says that he has a sickness in his head and that he should have gotten help for that sooner.”

We went around the circle several times, each child saying what they knew, how they felt, what they felt was the worst part, which pretty unanimously was that it was her husband who had done it.  As unthinkable as this principal’s murder was, that it was at the hands of her husband that was beyond their scope. Mine, too. Who can be trusted? Who is safe in this world?  

As one of the adults in the room, it was my job to move about and comfort the kids.  Some of these little people wept openly while others just stared incredulously, their little brains working to process the unthinkable.  One little one came late to the meeting and just wept at her teacher’s feet, holding on to a stuffed animal. One boy went home after the meeting.  Two other kids stayed in from recess needing bandaids. Tiny bandaids were administered, covering invisible wounds and thereby magically giving some comfort.

It seems that trauma never gets buried very deep and is easily unearthed. Those who have already experienced trauma are the most vulnerable.  With fresh wounds, they may exhibit strange behavior. They may get physically sick. They may start to cry and not be able to stop. This is my category.  When school finally ended and the staff debriefed, I made a quick exit. I walked home in the rain and let my tears flow. I could not believe how many tears I had kept inside all day. 

I don’t want kids to deal with this kind of thing.  I don’t know how to teach them how to handle it. I cannot assure them of their safety.  All I can do is be a safe adult. Be a bulwark in this storm we are living in even though I don’t feel like one.  Love them. I hope that is enough.