There is no rage like that of a widow when her young children get hurt.

My children attend a private Christian school. The year that Gordie died, my oldest son, Nathan, was in first grade. Towards the end of the school year every year, the school holds a Parent Appreciation Chapel. It is a lovely tribute to the parents in our school, the dedication they show to their children and our school, and just one of several events that unites us as a community.

The Parent Appreciation Chapel took place the Friday of Memorial Day weekend the year that Gordie died, less than 3 months after his death. I had blocked my work calendar weeks before so that Nathan had a parent in the audience. That morning I dressed in sweats, put my hair in a ponytail, and called it good. I drove Nathan to school, walked him to his classroom and then walked to the Sanctuary and sat down. I kept to myself, keeping my head down as I checked emails on my phone. I did not make eye contact with anyone. I was still in a state where I did not feel much like talking.

Soon the Sanctuary was filled with parents, students, teachers and administrators and the show was ready to begin. The Kindergartners opened the show with a lovely little song about Moms. I could not help but smile as I watched those adorable little kindergartners sing their song and do their hand motions.

The first graders then took the stage. I proudly watched Nathan as they all took their places. He looked so cute. They started their song. At first I was not really paying attention to the words. I was just so intent on watching my sweet little boy. But then the words penetrated and I nearly vomited.

The song the first graders were singing was about Dads. It was about how great their Dads are, all the things their Dads do with them, and how much they love their Dads.

In addition to almost vomiting, I felt a fire explode in my gut.

Are you fucking kidding me? I thought. My son who just lost his Dad less than 90 days ago is singing a song about Dads?

I stared at Nathan’s face looking for signs of sadness or distress. I did not see any but by then Nathan had become a pro at masking his feelings.

Tears started to slide down my face. The performance seemed to go on forever.

My Dad.

My Dad.

My Dad.

I was horrified. I was livid. All I wanted to do was run up there, grab Nathan and get him the fuck out of there.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned my head slightly to the left and saw it was the school librarian. I met her gaze momentarily and I could tell she felt my pain. I will never forget the feel of her hand on my shoulder.

The song soon ended. The first graders filed off the stage. Again, I stared at Nathan’s face looking for any sign of sadness. He was expressionless. I stayed until the end of the chapel and then went to find Nathan.

“Hi Bud. You did great. All OK?” I asked. I did not want to cause any alarm but he could tell that I had been crying.

“Yeah, I’m OK”, he said.

His class started to leave to return to their classroom.

“OK Bud, I’ll see you at pick-up” I said.

“Bye Mom”. I watched him walk away with his friends.

I quickly left the chapel. I did not want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to get to my car. But as I walked out of the chapel, a sea of red filled my vision. I was PISSED.

What the fuck was this school thinking?

Does anyone in this school have a fucking brain?

Not one person between two first grade teachers and two kindergarten teachers thought it might be a good idea to switch and have the first graders sing about Moms and the Kindergarteners sing about Dads?

How the fuck could they do this to my son?

I was so angry. I had never been this angry in my entire life. I have never been that angry again. I felt pure rage and I wanted to destroy.

Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.

I stopped for a second and turned back towards the school.

I am going into that office and talking to the Principal.

But I knew I shouldn’t. I was so angry I was on the cusp of losing control. I think if I had walked into that office I would have turned over tables or thrown things. At the very least I would have dropped so many f-bombs that even Chris Rock would have been shocked.

Turn around. Go to your car Staci!!!!! I told myself.

I turned around and actually jogged to my car. I drove like a bat out of hell to my parents’ house. Luckily nobody was home. Wyatt was out with his Nanny. My parents were gone too. I yanked my sweats off and threw on my running clothes. I tied my shoelaces so ferociously I nearly broke them. I grabbed my ipod and tore out of the house.

FUCK THEM. FUCK THEM FOR DOING THIS TO MY SON. I AM GOING TO MAKE THEM PAY. I AM GOING TO GET SOMEONE FIRED.

I ran faster and harder than I have ever run in my life. I did not even see what was ahead of me. All I could see was Nathan’s emotionless face in a red haze. I was fueled by a rage that I could not control and I knew I had to get it out of me. I ran and ran and ran.

50 minutes later, I just stopped. I sat down on the curb, put my head on my knees and cried. Finally, I got up and walked the rest of the way home.

When I picked Nathan up from school that afternoon I wore my dark sunglasses so nobody could see my eyes. Nathan walked out of the school and towards me. I smiled at him and he smiled back. We wished his friends a good long weekend and walked to the car.

“Um, Nathan, are you OK after singing that song at chapel today?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess”, he answered.

“Why did you guys have to sing the song about Dads?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The kindergartners got the Mom song and we got the Dad song”, he said.

“How long have you been practicing that song? I asked. “Since before or after Daddy died?” I asked.

“After”, he answered.

“OK”. I changed the subject.

I was angry the entire weekend. I could not believe that a school, let alone a Christian school, would make such a careless mistake. But Nathan did not seem damaged by the event, so I tried to let it go.

The following Tuesday, I received a call on my cell phone while I was at work.   The number on my phone registered as Nathan’s school so I quickly answered it. It was Nathan’s teacher, in tears. She profusely apologized for the incident. I told her that I accepted her apology but that I was just stunned that out of four teachers, a music teacher and an administration and during countless rehearsals, nobody made the connection that a boy who just lost his father was signing a song about Dads. She did not try to explain it. She just owned the mistake and apologized on behalf of herself and everyone involved.

Months later, I woke up one morning with a flashback to Nathan sitting in the backseat of my car telling me about practicing for Parent Appreciation Chapel and that the Kindergartners were singing about Moms and the First Graders got the Dad song. I was so confused. Did I dream that? Or did it happen? It was a hazy memory but also very real. I rolled over and put my head under the pillow. Had Nathan told me this before the chapel? Could I have prevented this? Was I so lost in my own grief, so much in a fog that I had not really been paying attention? A tear slid down my cheek. Had I failed my son?

I was angry about the Chapel for a long time. Angry at the school and angry at myself. Five years later, I have not forgotten the incident but I have forgiven the school. I still have a very hazy memory of the car conversation with Nathan before the Chapel and even though I am not 100% sure it actually happened, I will never completely forgive myself for potentially messing up so badly.

Since that day in the Sanctuary, I have never felt a rage as blinding as that. But I have felt rage close to it. My protective parent level went up ten notches after Gordie died. I like to think that it’s not just me but that every surviving parent who is raising children, who lost the other parent, is crazy protective of their children. Our kids have experienced enough pain for a lifetime. When my kids experience more pain, particularly when I believe it could or should have been avoided, it sends me off the deep-end. But fortunately I have not seen red since the Parent Appreciation chapel in 2012.

Five years later, we are still at the same school. My younger son, Wyatt, now attends the school too. I have nothing but love for this school. In 2012 the school wrapped my boys and me in its arms and has never let go. My kids feel safe there. I feel safe there.  We are loved by this community who prays for us daily. But just to be safe, I always ask the boys what they are singing about at Parent Appreciation Chapel.