Dear Marcela,

Dear Marcela,

I've had this picture sitting in my beauties to post for the past few months with the title Dear Marcela on it. I wanted to write you a letter and tell you how much I love you and how much I see you growing and changing. I told myself I would do so when my mind cleared at the end of the busy semester. After pulling an all nighter on Thursday to finish my end of term project, and despite the little sleep I had had, I awoke relieved that I could finally spend time with you and the family and enjoy the next couple of weeks worry-free. That morning as you sat in your first grade classroom and as I taught third graders in the same building, I received word of a horrifiying school massacre in an elementary school across our nation. I sent my third graders home as I fought back tears. And I squeezed you extra tight that day as you ran across the playground to meet me. Throughout the weekend, I did my best to carry about business. The little that I knew had my unconscious mind racing as I slept, awaking to nightmares that were the realities of other parents across the nation.

Monday arrived. I wondered what I would need to say to my students. I wondered what questions they would have. I implemented some new safety measures in my classroom. The routine of the day and a weekend having passed seemed to have helped calm the hype that I expected. My job was to comfort students and assure them of our safety even though I am not convinved we are safe.

As we arrived home from school and calls started coming in from friends and family members who watch the news, they inquired of our well-being. They had heard that a student at our school had brought a gun and ammunition to school to protect himself and his friends in case something like had happened in CT happened at our school. Suddenly I could no longer ignore what had happened in CT. The fears that had been on the back burner came to the surface and I had to face them. I am sorry you had to see me cry . . . sob. Today at school I had to answer questions like, "Mrs. Reyes, What will you do if someone kicks our classroom door down? What will we do if a bad person breaks in through the window? Mrs. Reyes, Do you know when the end of the world is?"

Marcela, the world you are growing up in is so different than the one I knew as a first or a third-grader. I didn't have to worry about lock-downs or elementary school massacres. I worried more about memorizing my multiplication facts and playing with my cabbage-patch dolls. Right now I don't know what more to say than I love you and Cecilia with all my heat. I love the third graders with which I spend every day . Five years ago as I took the job I have as an elementary school teacher, I never imagined that I would have to contemplate or answer to the students that I teach daily if I would be willing to take a bullet for them. I was more concerned with the delivery of my lessons and how to be an effective teacher. I hope and pray that our nation works together quickly to find the answers of how to make all schools a safer place.

Love you,

Mom