The Panic Room

What was that?

Count yourself fortunate if you've never experienced a frightening moment in your home. Hearing a noise in the middle of the night or wondering why the dog, hackles raised, is growling at the back door, are anxiety producing events. Even family members can produce a startle response, appearing suddenly, rounding a hallway corner or barreling into a room unannounced. When home alone, oh my - anxiety is fiercely intensified.

Home Alone - not a fan of.

Being the youngest of four, I was not often home alone. Perhaps that's why I avoided it when I eventually reached the age I was expected to stay alone. Walking home from elementary school I dreaded the moment I reached the front door of our empty house. If not invited to a friends house, I waited on the steps for my older brother or sisters to arrive.  

 

I'll pass.

A traumatic baby-sitting experience when I was 13-years old didn't help. The three children under my charge were tucked carefully in bed, sleeping peacefully. At approximately midnight the phone rang. It was my employer, the mother of the children. She was screaming hysterically "Get out of the house!" She refused to say why. She just kept screaming "Get out of the house - NOW!" Terrified a "killer" was lurking in the house, I ran to the neighbors for help. We collected the children and soon the police arrived. It was a shaking, traumatized, 13-year old girl the police drove home that night. I later learned her dramatic phone call was precipitated by a threat from her ex-husband. He claimed he was going to blow up the house that evening. I never accepted a babysitting offer from that family again. 

Get'em all.

Maybe this particularly traumatic experience is why the fear of being home alone lingered on into my early adulthood. Cell phones did not exist in the early to mid 80's. Cordless phone sets in multiple rooms was the latest technology. The downside was if one phone was inadvertently (or purposely - I imagined) de-activated, all other phones in the house were useless. Nervously contemplating a rare, upcoming night alone, (except for my first born Adam - a pre-schooler at the time) a question zipped through my head: In an emergency, how would one call from the bedroom phone if the basement phone was de-activated? (Who thinks about this stuff?)

Knowing my "home alone" fears were groundless, I bravely refused offers of lodging from my parents. I could do this I assured myself, I just needed a game plan. Laundry basket in hand, I strode purposefully from room to room, unplugging and gathering each cordless phone set. I hauled all phones upstairs into my bedroom:  AKA the Panic Room. 

As night-time approached, I took one last bathroom break and double-checked my supplies: juice, toys, water bottles, snacks, VHS movies. I snuggled Adam into my arms, shut and locked the bedroom door and hunkered down for the night. 

Safely ensconced in the Panic Room, the door would not be opened until morning. Like a bank vault - it was sealed. Completing one last safety precaution, I dragged the bed nite stand in front of the bedroom door. (I hope you are laughing - I know I am.) FYI: I survived.

Years have since passed. Kevin's 2 per-year, 12 day international trips provide me ample opportunity to be on my own - minus the Panic Room. Thankfully, I've grown to enjoy and appreciate the quiet solitude of my home. Occasionally a random house noise in the middle of the night sparks a sensation of fear, but it quickly passes. (I have a Louisville Slugger under my bed just in case.) Fear overcome, my home is now a safe haven - not a Panic Room. I am good-naturedly teased when I recount the Panic Room story. Taking it all in stride, I laugh at myself and shake my head thinking: "I've come a long way baby".   

Just in case.  ;)

Home = <3