On August 27th, at 6:06 p.m. ET, I’d just pulled into a spot at Target when my phone buzzed. I immediately felt my heartbeat move into my throat as I saw it was an AU Alert, from Auburn University, where my oldest daughter is a student. “Heavy police presence at RBD Library. Please avoid the area,” the text read.
For most of the day, I’d been thinking about the horrific school shooting in Minneapolis that had happened just that morning — the image of a woman, running barefoot, shoes in hand, toward Annunciation School, had been seared into my mind.
Now, the alert conjured images of the same thing happening to my daughter, and I was 900 miles away, too far to run to her.
I didn’t know where my daughter was
I started to panic. Where was Sophie? Was that day her busy day of classes or the lighter day? I couldn’t remember and forced myself to take a breath. Within minutes, she texted the family group chat, “Is there anything on the news about Auburn rn? We just got an alert about cops at RBD.”
I told her I got the alert, and she went on to say people were posting different things on YikYak, and it was hard to tell what was actually going on. I reassured her that her dad and I would keep checking and let her know. Meanwhile, she confirmed that she was in her apartment, getting ready to leave for class, but she didn’t feel safe doing so.
My inner mom voice was screaming, “Do not go! Nowhere in this world is safe, ever.” While I was mentally panicking, I knew I needed to do what I’ve always done with my kids, and that was to portray an outward sense of calmness and confidence in her ability to make the decision. I encouraged her to reach out to her professor and classmates, and texted, “Do whatever you think is right, love.”
She sent us videos of heavily armed cops on campus
We had some back and forth about how there’d been a rash of school shooter hoaxes, including at Villanova University, on move-in day, no less. She hadn’t heard about that and was surprised. She also didn’t know about the heartbreaking events of the morning.
Meanwhile, she sent a several-second-long screen recording of police, in full tactical gear, assault rifles drawn, moving through the RBD Library. I caught a glimpse of a kid walking down the stairs wearing a backpack and imagined what a surreal experience that must’ve been. While I knew my kid was safe, I worried about her friends and other people’s kids.
My 22-year-old daughter tends to be level-headed in potentially scary situations. She wrote, “I know it’s probably nothing, but idk, you never know.” She shared screenshots of communications with a couple of her friends, and the tone was one of caution rather than fear.
I felt a small sense of pride in their handling of the situation. No one was being dramatic or trying to incite panic in the group.
At 6:52 p.m., my daughter texted, “We’re all clear.” At the same time, my phone buzzed with an AU Alert: “ALL CLEAR. Police responded to a false report of a possible threat on campus. Authorities determined there was no threat to campus.”
There’s no parent handbook that teaches us how to handle this
Once it was a confirmed hoax, I realized I’d been sitting in the parking lot in my car for more than 45 minutes, my life on pause until I knew she was OK. I walked into the store feeling relieved, but thinking how that could’ve been so different, and I wouldn’t have been able to get there fast enough. I thought about the parents waiting to be reunited with their children in Minneapolis and the stark reality that there’s no handbook on how to prepare for an event like this. We shouldn’t have to.
I’ve tried to teach my kids to move through life with a sense of awareness instead of fear. This experience, a first for my daughter and me, reminds me of the influence we all have as parents to instill fear in our children or empower them. But I also don’t want her or me to experience this ever again.
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