The screams were like nothing I’d heard before. The team our daughter cheers with was together, preparing to meet for their warm up time. We gathered in a balcony type landing with a glass railing overlooking a large area of a convention center in Dallas, Texas. Thousands of athletes from throughout the country join each year for the NCA (National Cheerleaders Association) competition. Little did we know this year would bring what happened next.
The parents gathered, talking and catching up on travel, hotels, restaurants…our girls were near, doing the same but with assuredly different topics of conversation. When the screaming suddenly occurred, we began to silence. It was blood curdling. So loud and so intense from the floor below us, I naively and genuinely assumed someone famous had entered the building. I turned to look over the balcony when the world as we knew it stopped spinning. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were fleeing and shoving through the doors to run outside. I heard a man in the crowd scream, “SHOOTER!” and I turned back to look for my daughter and husband. As intense as the screaming was, it was almost as though the building went silent. The best way I can explain it is when you hear a loud explosion or noise and everything goes still or in slow motion around you, leaving you with a ringing in your ears. Frantically, I locked eyes with my husband, Adam who immediately turned to run to the top of the escalator of the landing frantically screaming for our daughter. My worst nightmare was playing out in front of me in real time. She was nowhere to be found. Even though I couldn’t process quickly enough, Adam looked back at me and I shifted into autopilot to start running towards him. Adam screamed at me over the chaos I could suddenly hear again. “Where is she? Where’s Lauren?”
“I don’t know. She was just right here!" I screamed back, but the area where we stood was now empty besides one team mom. I looked at my phone for anything and one of our friends, Paige texted, "I have her. We're in the bathroom." I screamed to Adam, she’s in the bathroom let’s go. He yelled back, you go, get her I’m staying here. I stopped frozen, “WHAT?!” I yelled again for him to come with me and he screamed, “Go! Go to her." I know him. I knew he would stay watching over even though I wanted him to go with me. I turned around and ran.
In the bathroom, there were soft sounds, no visuals of people throughout, but I whispered her name and heard her small voice. Cracking open the stall, she was with three other girls and Paige, all standing within the locked stall so their feet couldn’t be seen. Every stall was full of children and moms.
I've worked in public schools for years and trained for lock downs, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. I don’t care how many videos you watch, how many times you practice or drill. When you believe there is truly someone out there, your entire world becomes as small as a bathroom stall and every noise you hear becomes an active shooter. I quietly cracked opened the main bathroom door to look out, worried about Adam. He came in our direction and stood outside the door. I snapped to him to come inside and he said no, shutting the door. I stayed on the inside, he was on the out, the kids were phenomenal, the adults were phenomenal as they focused on trying to keep everyone calm and quiet. Adam opened the door for someone to then come in saying, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” funneling us to run into a different room, taking cover in an opening behind a wall. There were so many little ones and so many parents huddled together in a dark space trying to hold on to each other. This was the first time I was able to process. Everything was going so fast and my thoughts weren’t able to catch up until that point. There were children, seven or eight year-old children who were separated from their parents. Strangers were trying to comfort strangers. Everyone was holding on to each other in the darkness. Staying quiet, and trying to stay calm, holding onto anything we could grasp. I began to move so I could go out and get Adam from the hallway to come back and hide with us. Paige stopped me. “He wants you to stay here, let him do what he needs to do, he does not want you to leave.” I knew she was right, but I wanted him to be with us. Yet again, someone came and directed us to run, “Go, run, the entire building is being evacuated.” This led to the worst part of the experience. What I didn’t know was that while all of this was happening, somebody told Adam there was in fact a shooter, it was in the floor below us and now people were talking of threats of bombs. The rational brain wants to believe everything was happening so quickly causing things to get out of hand due to chaos, misinformation and fear. Your instincts, however race into fight or flight. No matter what the situation was, at the time we had to assume it was real. We had to keep the kids safe and get them away from the source of danger whatever it might be. We were rushed to an outside stairwell. So many people were crammed together, the stairs were exposed to the outside as the concrete railings allowed overlooks to the outside grounds. It was difficult to move as bodies were pushed against each other from all sides. Yelling suddenly began again, this time from the ground below us as people fled in all directions shouting that more shots were fired. We were trapped. People from all sides began to scream and push. I wrapped my arms around our daughter who had never felt so small. I braced her against the railing as she began shaking and I yelled to her, “No one will get to you. They can push, shoot, no matter what, they will not get to you through me.” Lauren Elizabeth doesn’t cry. Growing up with three brothers changes her perspective on a lot of things, one of them being to, “toughen up” on most things in life. Pulling my head back to look at her, however, it's the picture I’ll never forget. To experience terror in your child’s eyes. Pure fear that an active shooter is on the other side of a stairwell, will haunt you. I began praying over her, as she repeated, “I don’t want to die, mom. I don’t want to die. I want to go home. I want to see my brothers again. Mama, please don’t let me die.” Adam was forcing himself through the stairs to get to us. Armed police began working through the stairwell through the crying, pressure, pushing. We were thankful to see them and grateful they surrounded so quickly. Somehow we worked our way to the bottom of the stairs, and backed against a wall. Adam began talking with another father from a different cheer team. He informed Adam that two of their dads were police officers and were carrying. Adam turned and said, “We’re staying with them”. We made our way across the grounds, through shrubs, areas of bamboo stalks, pushed and held hands to begin getting as far away from the facility as possible. Another one of the girls Paige had gathered hadn’t seen her mom throughout and when the cell coverage finally became more connected, they reunited with an unbreakable grasp and sobs of relief. Looking around, it was like a movie set. People were screaming, hugging, sobbing, sirens everywhere. Police officers and police cars were endless. News cameras, lost shoes on the ground, dropped bags, reports of blood, broken bones from falling or being trampled. Parents who still couldn’t find their children and children who were crying for their moms. Our experience was one of thousands. None of it could be real, yet it altogether was.
The reports state at the end of the day, it all began with a fight between parents. The police state there was no gun, nor gun shot, while others swear by the fact they heard shots fired. In this day and age, until you’re out of the situation, you have to assume it’s real and act accordingly as sad as it is to say.
We eventually got back to the hotel, Adam’s parents were visiting so we ate our WhataBurger and In and Out while Lauren Elizabeth Facetimed with her friends and Adam and I tried to choke down our food. It was a snapshot of “normalcy” that we had taken for granted before this.
Trying to sleep that night in the hotel, I listened to him breath and could tell he was still awake. I whispered, “When I hear a sound in the hallway I want to check on it.” “I know. I do, too.” He whispered back. We’re grown adults and we’re on edge, I can’t imagine what the day will do to children. Countless stories, one after another mixed in with some, “Why did everyone panic so much over a fight?” When I hear the expression, “If you weren’t there, you’ll never understand”, from now on, it’ll hold a much greater meaning. It’s an experience no one would ever want to relive, while heartbreaking that so many people from schools and life have experienced such true situations.
The next day, the competition resumed. To go back to the same place where it all occurred was difficult to say the least. Anytime a team screamed or celebrated, we flinched with increased heart rates. Our coaches, team moms and parents were outstanding, keeping our girls together and accounted for at all times. The dads flanked the team as they moved from meeting place to warm ups. The girls performed beautifully.
No one should live in fear, I one thousand percent believe that. If only just for one night, I'll put my hand on my child’s back to feel her quiet breathing while she sleeps, and pray to never see the look I saw within her, ever again.
The parents gathered, talking and catching up on travel, hotels, restaurants…our girls were near, doing the same but with assuredly different topics of conversation. When the screaming suddenly occurred, we began to silence. It was blood curdling. So loud and so intense from the floor below us, I naively and genuinely assumed someone famous had entered the building. I turned to look over the balcony when the world as we knew it stopped spinning. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were fleeing and shoving through the doors to run outside. I heard a man in the crowd scream, “SHOOTER!” and I turned back to look for my daughter and husband. As intense as the screaming was, it was almost as though the building went silent. The best way I can explain it is when you hear a loud explosion or noise and everything goes still or in slow motion around you, leaving you with a ringing in your ears. Frantically, I locked eyes with my husband, Adam who immediately turned to run to the top of the escalator of the landing frantically screaming for our daughter. My worst nightmare was playing out in front of me in real time. She was nowhere to be found. Even though I couldn’t process quickly enough, Adam looked back at me and I shifted into autopilot to start running towards him. Adam screamed at me over the chaos I could suddenly hear again. “Where is she? Where’s Lauren?”
“I don’t know. She was just right here!" I screamed back, but the area where we stood was now empty besides one team mom. I looked at my phone for anything and one of our friends, Paige texted, "I have her. We're in the bathroom." I screamed to Adam, she’s in the bathroom let’s go. He yelled back, you go, get her I’m staying here. I stopped frozen, “WHAT?!” I yelled again for him to come with me and he screamed, “Go! Go to her." I know him. I knew he would stay watching over even though I wanted him to go with me. I turned around and ran.
In the bathroom, there were soft sounds, no visuals of people throughout, but I whispered her name and heard her small voice. Cracking open the stall, she was with three other girls and Paige, all standing within the locked stall so their feet couldn’t be seen. Every stall was full of children and moms.
I've worked in public schools for years and trained for lock downs, but nothing prepared me for the real thing. I don’t care how many videos you watch, how many times you practice or drill. When you believe there is truly someone out there, your entire world becomes as small as a bathroom stall and every noise you hear becomes an active shooter. I quietly cracked opened the main bathroom door to look out, worried about Adam. He came in our direction and stood outside the door. I snapped to him to come inside and he said no, shutting the door. I stayed on the inside, he was on the out, the kids were phenomenal, the adults were phenomenal as they focused on trying to keep everyone calm and quiet. Adam opened the door for someone to then come in saying, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” funneling us to run into a different room, taking cover in an opening behind a wall. There were so many little ones and so many parents huddled together in a dark space trying to hold on to each other. This was the first time I was able to process. Everything was going so fast and my thoughts weren’t able to catch up until that point. There were children, seven or eight year-old children who were separated from their parents. Strangers were trying to comfort strangers. Everyone was holding on to each other in the darkness. Staying quiet, and trying to stay calm, holding onto anything we could grasp. I began to move so I could go out and get Adam from the hallway to come back and hide with us. Paige stopped me. “He wants you to stay here, let him do what he needs to do, he does not want you to leave.” I knew she was right, but I wanted him to be with us. Yet again, someone came and directed us to run, “Go, run, the entire building is being evacuated.” This led to the worst part of the experience. What I didn’t know was that while all of this was happening, somebody told Adam there was in fact a shooter, it was in the floor below us and now people were talking of threats of bombs. The rational brain wants to believe everything was happening so quickly causing things to get out of hand due to chaos, misinformation and fear. Your instincts, however race into fight or flight. No matter what the situation was, at the time we had to assume it was real. We had to keep the kids safe and get them away from the source of danger whatever it might be. We were rushed to an outside stairwell. So many people were crammed together, the stairs were exposed to the outside as the concrete railings allowed overlooks to the outside grounds. It was difficult to move as bodies were pushed against each other from all sides. Yelling suddenly began again, this time from the ground below us as people fled in all directions shouting that more shots were fired. We were trapped. People from all sides began to scream and push. I wrapped my arms around our daughter who had never felt so small. I braced her against the railing as she began shaking and I yelled to her, “No one will get to you. They can push, shoot, no matter what, they will not get to you through me.” Lauren Elizabeth doesn’t cry. Growing up with three brothers changes her perspective on a lot of things, one of them being to, “toughen up” on most things in life. Pulling my head back to look at her, however, it's the picture I’ll never forget. To experience terror in your child’s eyes. Pure fear that an active shooter is on the other side of a stairwell, will haunt you. I began praying over her, as she repeated, “I don’t want to die, mom. I don’t want to die. I want to go home. I want to see my brothers again. Mama, please don’t let me die.” Adam was forcing himself through the stairs to get to us. Armed police began working through the stairwell through the crying, pressure, pushing. We were thankful to see them and grateful they surrounded so quickly. Somehow we worked our way to the bottom of the stairs, and backed against a wall. Adam began talking with another father from a different cheer team. He informed Adam that two of their dads were police officers and were carrying. Adam turned and said, “We’re staying with them”. We made our way across the grounds, through shrubs, areas of bamboo stalks, pushed and held hands to begin getting as far away from the facility as possible. Another one of the girls Paige had gathered hadn’t seen her mom throughout and when the cell coverage finally became more connected, they reunited with an unbreakable grasp and sobs of relief. Looking around, it was like a movie set. People were screaming, hugging, sobbing, sirens everywhere. Police officers and police cars were endless. News cameras, lost shoes on the ground, dropped bags, reports of blood, broken bones from falling or being trampled. Parents who still couldn’t find their children and children who were crying for their moms. Our experience was one of thousands. None of it could be real, yet it altogether was.
The reports state at the end of the day, it all began with a fight between parents. The police state there was no gun, nor gun shot, while others swear by the fact they heard shots fired. In this day and age, until you’re out of the situation, you have to assume it’s real and act accordingly as sad as it is to say.
We eventually got back to the hotel, Adam’s parents were visiting so we ate our WhataBurger and In and Out while Lauren Elizabeth Facetimed with her friends and Adam and I tried to choke down our food. It was a snapshot of “normalcy” that we had taken for granted before this.
Trying to sleep that night in the hotel, I listened to him breath and could tell he was still awake. I whispered, “When I hear a sound in the hallway I want to check on it.” “I know. I do, too.” He whispered back. We’re grown adults and we’re on edge, I can’t imagine what the day will do to children. Countless stories, one after another mixed in with some, “Why did everyone panic so much over a fight?” When I hear the expression, “If you weren’t there, you’ll never understand”, from now on, it’ll hold a much greater meaning. It’s an experience no one would ever want to relive, while heartbreaking that so many people from schools and life have experienced such true situations.
The next day, the competition resumed. To go back to the same place where it all occurred was difficult to say the least. Anytime a team screamed or celebrated, we flinched with increased heart rates. Our coaches, team moms and parents were outstanding, keeping our girls together and accounted for at all times. The dads flanked the team as they moved from meeting place to warm ups. The girls performed beautifully.
No one should live in fear, I one thousand percent believe that. If only just for one night, I'll put my hand on my child’s back to feel her quiet breathing while she sleeps, and pray to never see the look I saw within her, ever again.
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