w o r d s on no w o r d s

"there are no words" read the status update of one of our pictureless' friends. It was my first indication that something went wrong in the world. 

Hours later I spoke with one of our Connecticut pictureless' tween babies.

"Ms. Teffanie, we are okay."


"Oh, yeah. What happened?"

She explained her understanding, her version, of the atrocity.

At home we didn't talk about it. We prepared for dinner, band practice and a thirteen year old's gymnastic birthday party. I shared with them the Christmas carol mall flash mob my fabulous boss sent me earlier.

"Mom, did you hear what happened?"


"What happened, Baby?"

She explained her understanding, her version, of the atrocity.

I still had no words. I would need some soon, and I couldn't continue to rely on tweens for the 411. Eventually, I would be expected to make a statement to have words as is the nature of all of my chosen professions.

Over the weekend I read the New York Times and I listened by the facebook water cooler. The words were there. People had lots of words to create their understanding, their version, of chaos. 

They weren't mine. 

I didn't want words from national leaders not standing on the educational front line. I didn't want words that voiced people's response to those politicians.

I didn't want words of where God was allowed, or not.

I didn't want words of fashion solidarity protocols of hoodies, and colors, and ribbons to don. Within moments, three different posts announcing five different colors to be worn on Monday popped onto my feed.

I didn't want words about gun control or mental illness or gun control and mental illness. 

I kind of wanted words of Scandal... What did happen to the other shooter?  I still knew that it wouldn't bring relevancy to my world or prompt the words I needed to make sense.

Monday, the day arrived. I still didn't have a single word let alone a statement. What had I said in the past? I am from the 254... we lived through Luby's, we lived through Darnell. 

Nothing.

You can't stop will. That's all I had or some variation of it.

What do we tell the students?

You can't stop will.

Should we lock the doors? Should we post people at the entry ways? Should we arm teachers?

Review Crisis Management. You can't stop will.

It was my answer to it all. Poor leadership. Poor words.

Maybe... there WERE no words.

Then Tracy's melody began, and in seconds the notes floated outside of my head all Calista Flockhart style. Not Brothers & Sisters, Calista Flockhart, Ally McBeal, Calista.

Sorry 
is all that you can't say
Years gone by and still
Words don't come easily
Like sorry like s o r r y

Forgive me
is all that you can't say
Years gone by and still
Words don't come easily
Like forgive me f o r g i v e me

But you can say baby
Baby can I hold you tonight
Maybe if I told you the right words
As the right time you'd be mine

I love you
Is all that you can't say
Years gone by and still
Words don't come easily
Like I love you I l o v e you

There they were. 

s o r r y 
f o r g i v e 
l o v e

The forgiveness stood out. I thought of the Amish. Remember when a milkman killed five girls in an Amish schoolhouse. The Amish of that community immediately displayed ginormous forgiveness to the shooter and kindness to his family.

It was so bizarre, yet so b e a u t i f u l.

For date night a few months back Farmer Guy and I viewed the documentary, The Amish. We both remembered the same man. He indicated that he didn't want to be the judge of something like that. That wasn't his job. It resonated and had relevance. 

Sorry, Forgive, and Love


I am so sorry that this happened on my watch. 

I forgive the Lanzas'. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 26 times I love you.

l o v e