Deafening Silence

         The sound of silence was deafening. There was no laughter or students talking which added to the realization that nothing was normal in this situation.

         As I entered my room, I took notice of my name plate outside my room. I hadn’t seen that name plate for two months. My room was just how I left it on March 17^th with the chairs around the table as though I was going to sit down and teach a lesson to three students. The words “The author talks about folktales, myths, and legends,” were still written with black ink on the white board. I could still see the date of March 12^th at the top of the board.

         March 12^th, the day the world stopped at least for me as an educator. It was the 5-month anniversary of my mom’s death and the first time I had worked on the date of the 12^th since September. That week in March had a full moon and a Friday the 13^th. All teachers were dreading that week. I was just dreading the 12^th. You see I’m a dates person. Dates loom over me like a balloon following the one holding the string.

         Dismissal duty came and I was told, “Governor DeWine is closing the schools for 3 weeks.”

         “Cool, a 3-week Spring Break,” was my initial thought.

         Then the dreaded staff meeting after work caused my mind to switch from cool to worry because I didn’t know if I was going to be coming back to school for the remainder of the year.

         Now 2 months later, I had only stepped in the building twice since the shut-down. I was here to close up shop for the year. Luckily, I had sense to clean up and put away all of my belongings on my last day. So, my mission was to get my paperwork in order and to find my staff handbook. I was closing up the year once again in unusual circumstances for last year we had the tornadoes. Then I had to close up my room in the dark.

         The silence was deafening while I worked today because my room was missing one important detail that I couldn’t bring in. My room was missing my students who bring life to the room.

A Year Later

         The air was completely still as we walked around the backyard.

         We laughed as I commented, “We are walking around during a tornado warning.”

         A few minutes later, we went back in the house to get ready for bed thinking nothing about those tornado warnings because tornadoes were rare around here. As I laid in bed, my mind wouldn’t shut down, so I scrolled through Facebook. All of the sudden, I saw the words, “Tornado has hit Trotwood.”

         As quick as I could, I jumped out of my bed and screamed, “It’s real,” as tears rolled down my face.

         “Everyone to the bathroom,” I yelled!

         Our bathroom is a tiny room. Imagine trying to fit 4 people and a dog into what is basically a walk-in closet sized room. Will and I took the floor. Hubby sat on the toilet. Nick had just finished his bath, so he put on his bathing suit and sat in the water that hadn’t drained.

         The perfect Memorial Day was now a nightmare. The blue skies were replaced with an angry black monster. The pinging of the hail began hitting our house like millions of basketballs being hit against the wall. My back was against the bathroom door and felt all the vibrations of our house being struck repeatedly by the baseball sized hail.

         My phone kept beeping. Every time we thought we were in the clear, the tornado sighted alarm went off. People kept texting me to make sure our family was safe. Nick was on the phone with his now ex-girlfriend trying to console her. It was the most surreal moment in my life.

         Two hours after seeing “Tornado has hit Trotwood,” we were free to go to bed. We were fortunate because our house had been spared. I praised God for his protection over us.

         Sleep was not possible that night. Worry hung over me. At 3 o’clock in the morning, I walked around my backyard. The air was completely still.

         It was not until daylight would anyone know the true amount of destruction that had occurred on that night where the landscape of the area I know was drastically changed.

         That night taught me two lessons: never say never and the value of community. We never thought a tornado would occur in our city. And the amount of support we got from strangers was amazing. Even people who lost it all were out helping their neighbors.

         Now a year later, I will always remember the stillness of the night before the angry monster tore through our city.