So we had a regularly scheduled day off on the heel of two snow days.  This meant one thing and one thing only: we needed an ironclad plan to get the heck out of the house. And quick.  After getting the boys haircuts that will put me back in the good graces of my mother-in-law,  we hatched the grand scheme—a good ole fashioned afternoon of sledding.

And it was exactly what we needed just when we needed it. The slope we picked was the perfect balance of physical exertion and thrill-inducing fun. All seven boys launching themselves over the crest were having a blast. If we were characters in a Hallmark film, we would all have been bathed in golden light with a beautiful melody playing over the montage. It was just that kind of day.

And then it wasn’t.

As we started to think about gathering boys and sleds and soggy mittens to head on back home, a park ranger came running up the slope.

“I need you to get your kids. Now. This is an urgent situation.”

My friend and I looked at each other. Our first collective thought was “Geez, did we  really just get in trouble for sledding?” We have quite a history, the two of us. It could happen.

Then the park ranger said the phrase that caught my breath and changed the whole tenor of the day:

“There is a person with a gun in the parking lot. You need to get the kids and follow me now.”

I looked over at the hill still full of seven sweet, silly boys scrambling all over it and screamed,

“Boys, run! Here. Now.”

And God bless each and every one of those stubborn, rascally, cantankerous boys, they stopped, listened, and started running towards us.

The littlest ones were tripping as they tried to drag their sleds along with them.

“Drop the sleds. Just run.”

My friend ran back up the hill to get between whatever was happening in the parking lot and the boys as they scrambled down the hill towards us. I was just trying to keep calm and keep them coming.

“Come on, boys. Hurry up. You can do it.” They all kept coming towards my voice.

When we all reached the ranger, he immediately directed us to the back of a farm shed. Wanna know what fear looks like? Seven little boys tucked in behind tractor wheels and farm equipment.

The ranger gave us more specifics as he learned them. Apparently, a young woman in the middle of a divorce had come to this lovely park  on this beautiful day to end her life.

We were probably not in any danger, but he was moving us to a more secure location, a nearby farmhouse the rangers used.

The nine of us sat around the table in the farmhouse waiting for another friend to come and pick us up because we couldn’t get to our cars. The boys all took little paper cones. They overfilled them with water.  They spilled them on the table. They dropped mittens and hats and jackets all around like it was their own house.  They were just boys. And they talked about what had just happened.

The whole incident was maybe half an hour. It’s hard to gauge time when your heart is beating that fast and your mind is clicking through a reel of scary could-have-beens. In any case, we were safely back at our other friend’s house in a short time. All 9 of us eating her snacks, playing her games, and taking over her afternoon as we waited for word from the rangers that we could go back to the park and pick up our cars.

On our return, the rangers met us in the parking lot with all of the hats, mittens, and sleds the boys had abandoned on the slopes. We chatted with the rangers about the young woman and our hopes that she would find peace. We talked about how relatively common it is for people in pain to come to the park for just this purpose. We complimented the boys for their quick response to our command, their quiet when we needed it, and their cooperation through all of it. And then the ranger said,

“Unfortunately, in our world today, they are all ready for moments just like this.”

Indeed.

There’s nothing really enlightening or uplifting or inspiring to say about what happened in Newtown a year ago. It was a senseless tragedy. But it did change something in all of us. We began to think these things could happen anywhere to anyone at any age. Our children learned— and are expressly taught— how to behave in crisis.

So with nothing to offer those grieving parents of Newtown on this sad and sacred anniversary, I just want to put this Christmas wish out there: Peace.

For those who are grieving, those who are hurting, those who are raising children in a crazy world, those who are growing up in it.

Peace. That is all.

We are all ready, deeply hopeful and wishing, for a moment just like this.

Peace and good will to all this holiday season!

-Erin

PS- I just wanted to add this year, on the second anniversary of that sad day, that I feel like there is something to offer those grieving parents. Nicole Hockley lost her son Dylan that day and there is a post she wants you to read. For all of those who lost their lives that day and all of those that still grieve them, please read this.

Peace and good will to all this holiday season!