Last night I had a nightmare. Geoff and I were downtown at church, for choir practice, I think, although I don't remember us singing. We were with some other people we know, but Katie and Annabel weren't with us. It was the golden hour of the evening, and sun was streaming slantedly through the stained glass windows of the sanctuary, and suddenly there was a deafening boom, and as we looked toward the sound, we could see billowing clouds of smoke and huge flames on the other side of the now broken glass, and I stood, stunned, not knowing what to do. A text popped up on my phone from Katie, and it said "please come home." My ears were ringing and I was terrified and turned to stone, and I thought to myself that I didn't know whether we would actually be able to get home, and I was worried about Katie and Annabel, but I didn't do anything. And then I woke up.
It wasn't really time for me to get up for the day yet, but it was almost 4:30, and I decided I didn't want to take the chance of continuing that dream, so I woke up to get ready for the day, and in a flash I realized: it's election day.
I was in the kitchen making coffee and putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher when I thought about my dream again, and thought about all of those times in recent memory that ordinary people have found themselves in tragic and terrifying situations, and I realized what I should have been doing while I was trapped there in the church: I should have been texting my daughter back, to tell her how much I loved her. I should have been texting everyone I loved, so that if they never saw me again, they would at least have that from me. It was my chance to say goodbye.
A few weeks ago we had a lockdown at school, and although I've been in schools during lockdowns before, I hadn't ever experienced one at this school, and I hadn't ever experienced one when I was the full-time teacher. I hadn't expected the announcement, and I didn't know if it was a drill or not, and although the kids assumed it was, I wasn't so sure. We locked the door and turned off the lights and huddled in a corner of the room where we couldn't be seen from the windows to the hallway, and I tried to keep them quiet, which was a lot harder, I am sure, than it would have been if they'd had any idea that it might have been real. I thought about all of the news stories, all of the school shootings where the adults put themselves in the literal line of fire to save the kids they're with, and I realized that I would do that, too, although not without regret for my own family. But it would have to be me, because I am the one here with them, and there is no one else here to protect them, from something they should never have to be protected from in the first place.
In 15 minutes, I am going to go vote. I hope you do, too.