“Lately I Am Seven”

Our younger daughter whose name is Ellen is the mother of two small children, our grandchildren.  Small, innocent children - a girl almost four and a boy almost two. Bright, sweet children who smile easily and laugh without restraint.  Children who are helpless and therefore trusting. 

Two days ago, I posted Ellen's thoughts about Newtown, Connecticut, her childhood home.  Today, she wrote more intimately of her memories as an innocent, trusting seven year old at Sandy Hook Elementary School:

Lately I am Seven

For Sandy Hook and All of Us

Lately, behind closed eyes, I am seven again. 

I am elbow-height to my teacher. 

She writes beautifully and with red ink. 

I wait for directions so I know how, 

but for now I go ahead and fill in my name. 

In the hallway, I walk when the person in front of me walks. 

For the length of the corridor I drag my finger in the space between the rows of glazed wall tiles. 

It lulls me into a daydream, interrupted by doorways and low-hanging art projects. 

The boy in front of me stops. 

I stop. 

We go again. I don’t wonder when or where. 

I just run my finger and wait to be told we have arrived.

I know that sound: that is Mrs. Klein’s shoes clicking down the hall. 

She works in the office and every day

she clickity-clacks with her high-heels throughout the school, 

bringing papers and messages here and there. 

As the sound passes by, I glance to my side: there she goes. 

Right again.

Lately, these days, I close my eyes and see those halls. I can’t stop myself.

It is all there, in front of me, 

the details—revived from the dormant depths of my memory—amaze me.

I learn they have been carried with me, quietly, all of these years.

In my mind’s eye, I picture a self that doesn’t worry about germs. Or what’s for dinner. 

Or real estate or the price of gas. 

Instead, with eyes closed, I worry about remembering to have my mom to sign that form tonight. I must not forget. I am given many colored sheets of paper to bring to my parents to read. They are all equally important, but this one I must return with me. I don’t want to get in trouble or disappoint.

A drink at the porcelain water fountain is a satisfying act of independence.

I have no idea how helpless I am.