Sharing My Tears

As a teacher, I’m trained in school safety procedures. I know how to protect my students in the classroom.

My first instinct when I heard about the Newtown school shooting, however, was to gather my own children near to me. My 16-year-old daughter and I had a road trip planned that afternoon, so we listened to the radio as the news of the victims and shooter began to emerge. She saw tears rolling down my face as I drove.

I tried to explain why I was crying; it’s the shared grief among the community of motherhood that couldn’t be felt by anyone who hadn’t held their baby in their arms. I explained to her about how we cannot fathom the pain the parents of the slain children must be experiencing. I praised the words of commitment toward ending gun violence, knowing that was a tangible action she could grasp. I shared my sadness and horror that a son would kill his mother–but there is no explaining that. All I could do as I drove along was hold her hand and share my tears.

image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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One thought on “Sharing My Tears

  1. […] year, on the day of the Sandy Hook shooting, I shared my tears with my teenage daughter as we drove through the Sierras, hands clasped. Somehow I never imagined […]

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