One of my dear friends asked me if I was available last week to help her take some photos for our schools’ yearbook. I had nothing going for the hour that she needed help, so I popped over to the school with my big camera and help her out – Quinn in tow. The kids were organized into groups of their “Faith Families” – small groups made up of one child from each grade of the school. These groups spend time together during the year, at Mass, or doing other activities. It is one of the very special things that I love about our school – the chance for each of my children to interact with kids in other grades, both older and younger than them. The kids really look forward to these opportunities.
You can imagine the mayhem of the entire school gathered in the Church, for a short lecture by the principal. I had a list of the groups that I was supposed to photograph, but there was no rhyme or reason to the way that the kids were organized, and I quickly found myself scattering about and looking for children that I knew in order to identify their group and pull them aside for some pictures. Quinn, who was by my side, was less than thrilled with helping.
After pulling the first couple of groups out of the church for a quick photo, Quinn asked me to take him to the water fountain to get some water. We made a quick stop at the water fountain on our way back into the church, and then went to get the next group. After shooting a couple more groups, he asked me if he could go get some more water, so I told him to run back over to the fountain that we had just been to. I grabbed another group of kids, and took them to the side of the church for another photograph. After taking the picture, and getting the kids back into their pew, I noticed that Quinn had not yet returned inside the church. After getting my last group situated, I ran over to the water fountain – no Quinn. I poked my head into the boys and girls bathrooms, both adjacent to the water fountain – both empty, and no Quinn. Starting to panic, I hastily pushed open the side door of the church to head out into the courtyard to look for him. There he was, standing adjacent to the side door of the church, sobbing into his hands, surrounded by NO LESS THAN THREE TEACHERS. Luckily, I know these women well, and they know Quinn well (one of them was Brady’s current first grade teacher, and another Grace’s third-grade teacher last year). They were comforting Quinn as I emerged, and he quickly choked out the words, “I got locked out.”
In that moment, I was mortified that this had happened, even if only for a couple of minutes. What must our teachers have thought about my parenting!? How negligent must I have looked in that moment? And forget what anyone else thought – I felt absolutely horrible that I had let something happen that would traumatize my child like this. I wasn’t certain why Quinn had headed out that door when he knew I was in the church – I know him well and he’s not one to wander off – but I was sure that Quinn was scarred for life. In fact, I was certain of it.
I called Justin, absolutely horrified about what had transpired at school that afternoon. And, you know what? Justin had the best response I could have imagined when I recounted how I had lost our son, albeit briefly. He told me that these things happen. He told me that Quinn would be fine and is fine. And he told me that we are so incredibly lucky to have the community we have, a place where our children are known, and held, and comforted, and safe – no matter what. A place where our children – all four of them – are more than faces in the crowd. He was quick to clarify that he didn’t mean to minimize how traumatic the event must have been in the moment, and that, yes, obviously this situation was not ideal. But it was a reminder of how lucky we were to have three trusted individuals who were able to step in within seconds and stay with Quinn for a few moments of uncertainty. These women know Quinn, and were there for him. Our community is SO GOOD.
It takes a village, and I could not be more grateful for the blessings of the village we call our own.
