Decision Day at the Wilkinsons

College choices have finally been made. It's hard to believe my babies will be headed off into the big world all alone in less than six months. Never mind that they will be two months older than I was when I first left home - they're too young! Actually, I'm just not quite ready to let them go, but that's exactly what I must do. And they really are ready. If the truth be told, all three of my kids could have taken care of themselves if they had to by the age of thirteen.

I'm grateful that all three have chosen schools relatively close to home - DB had decided to join JB at Texas State... Not so much because he's there, but because they offered her the best scholarships, and she was admitted to their Honor Program. A hand written note from the dean of the program commenting on the depth of her essays didn't hurt any either! DA decided on UT Austin. (Hook 'em!) They have a great acting program, and she already knows several of the faculty there. They are so much better prepared than I was that there is really no way I can rationally worry about them. I know the most exciting times of their lives are yet to come, and I want them to enjoy it to the fullest.

Something I can rationally be concerned about is financing four different households!! I feel very strongly that everyone should move away their freshman year. Even if away is to a dorm in the same city you grew up in. It's time for the little birdies to spread their wings a bit. That means that John and I will continue to share our current home, but each of the kids will have a separate abode - JB in an apartment in San Marcos, DA in Jester and DB in Laurel Hall (we think). That's a LOT of rent! I'm not sure how we'll do it, but I know that we will. And I know that we will be finished within five years, and then John and I get to go play. Hmmm, maybe I should start making travel plans now.

Shattered Dreams, Part 2

Today was the funeral. Actually there were two. The program began with the second half of the movie showing what occurred after the accident yesterday. It showed the accident scene and followed the various characters from that scene. 

The boy who was driving was handcuffed, taken to jail, fingerprinted and put into a cell. He was filled with sadness and remorse. He kept saying it was all his fault. His friends didn't deserve to die or be injured. He was a good kid who made a bad choice. A choice that would affect the rest of his life. He would go on to spend 20 years in prison for vehicular manslaughter.

Two of the girls trapped in the car were transported by ambulance to the hospital. One was unable to feel her legs. She would arrive at the funeral today in a wheelchair, paralyzed by the accident. The other was banged up, but no serious injuries.

The girl who was taken by Starflight to the hospital died there. The doctors had to let her mother know that her daughter had not survived the trauma, and she was badly beaten up. She had suffered. The mother was overwrought. She had to go into the emergency room and see her only daughter lying bloody and bruised on a table. (Like me, the situation was incredibly real for her. Not at all what she had expected to feel.)

They showed me being told by the police that my child had been killed on the scene. With their editing only about a minute of the intense conversation was shown, but definitely enough to get the point across. Many of the students watching (invincible 16-, 17- and 18-year-olds) were in tears.

The caskets and flowers were beautiful. Five or six young people, dressed in their best to say goodbye to their friends entered the stage. The boys read eulogies for their "girlfriends". They were heart-wrenching and heartfelt. The tears in the Performing Arts Center continued to flow. And then it was over.

There was no need for a lot of talk by adults about the dangers of drinking and driving. This group of kids (who come from all different groups in the school) had made their point. They had used their talents and passion pass along to the other 900 or so one of the most important messages they will every hear.... Don't drink and drive - the consequences can be permanent and far reaching. This group of new friends will forever be connected by this project. And all that I heard talk about it agreed that it was one of the hardest things they had ever done. It wasn't fun in the end - it was painful. I'm so glad they were willing to give of themselves and make a difference in the world.

Shattered Dreams, Part 1

I wander up on a car accident today. It had just happened, and there was no way I could get to them to help. It was a bunch of teenagers. One had been thrown from the car, two were wandering around frantic trying to help their friends and some more were trapped in the car. The one on the ground was covered with blood. When her friends tried to revive her they got no response. It seemed to take forever for the emergency services to get there. First a few police cars and motorcycles, then a firetruck and finally an ambulance or two. 


The first reponders talked to the kids who were able to communicate. There was a lot of screaming, confusion. My attention kept being drawn back to the girl sprawled on the ground a few feet from the car. She never moved. Soon firefighters were working to get the crushed door off the car to get the ones trapped inside out, EMS personnel were helping the people they could get to and police were giving a field sobriety test to the young man who had evidently been driving. Everyone did their jobs quickly and efficiently. It was like a smoothly working machine. 

Only a man with "CHAPLAIN" on the back of his black shirt seemed to notice the girl on the ground. He took pictures of her, and finally her small, bloody body was covered with a white sheet. At that time I knew for sure that she was gone. My heart sank. That was someone's child, and all these people were scrambling around her, ignoring her. I knew they were trying to take care of the ones they could save, but it still bothered me.

Starflight was called in for one of the victims. It had been 30 or 40 minutes since the accident had happened, and I wondered why it took so long to get there. I supposed they had determined that the girl's injuries required the services of a hospital farther away than the ambulance to get to in a reasonable amount of time. She was loaded into the helicopter and it took off as quickly as it had landed. 

Ambulances left. Firefighters cleaned up their equipment and tried to put the doors into the crumpled car. Police made marks around the scene with their fluorescent spray paint - even around the girl under the sheet who was still lying on the ground. 

Forty-five minutes after the ordeal began a hearse pulled up to the scene. Two men in black suits pulled a gurney from the back of the car. They carefully opened a body bag on the ground and gently rolled the young woman into it. They were so tender. Respectful. It was somewhat surreal to watch. Almost like a scene from Men in Black cleaning up after some aliens. Then they drove away.

People began to disperse, so I made my way home.

Shortly after I arrived there was a knock on the door. I opened to it find several people - a policeman (maybe two), a man in a black shirt and khaki pants, a kind-faced woman. You've got to worry when the police come to the door. It can't be good. But Daughter A was at school; Daughter B was at work; and JB was in San Marcos (probably in class). I let them in and they told me they had some difficult news for me. They invited me to sit and clustered around. Their faces all full of care and concern. The police officer informed me that my child had been involved in a car accident. And she was dead. He didn't say it that way. He was careful with his words. He was genuinely concerned for me. But that was what I heard - SHE WAS DEAD!

They offered comfort and asked who they could call. I didn't want our tight family to hear that type of news from some stranger, so I asked them to call my mother and explain to her. She would know what to do. She always knows what to do... She's a mother. I managed to remember the phone number that I have called hundreds of times after a little thought. The only question I could think to ask was, "Did she suffer?" This is one of my babies. I don't want her to hurt. She hates pain. She's always hated pain and never even tried to pretend that she was tough. If she hurt I couldn't stand it. They didn't know for sure, but let me know that she had been thrown from the car and most likely had died on impact. No pain.

The chaplain did his best to comfort. I wasn't hysterical, but the tears fell. I couldn't stop them. This could not be real. "DA was at school", I kept telling them. There were hugs and pats and comforting words, bunches of business cards with numbers I could call at any time of the day or night. I wasn't able to process any of it. It was just like a buzzing in my head. My mind was racing - DB, JB, John. What would we do? How could this happen? What had happened? But I wasn't sure how to verbalize any of the questions going through my head. The words wouldn't string together outside of my mind.

Finally the men all left and the kind woman - a victim counselor or something - stayed with me. She gave me instructions about taking care of myself. She told me she would be with us through the next steps and help in any way she could. She kept saying she didn't want to overload me with information at that time, but would be just a phone call away if I needed her. She was like a best friend when I was all alone. My mind kept screaming, "Make it go away! Make it stop! I can't do this anymore!" when a young man said, "That's good. I think that's all we need. Thank you."

I managed to get my breath and say thanks to the people around me.The worst part of this dramatization called Shattered Dreams was over. Or at least I think It's the worst part. Tomorrow I go to my child's "funeral". I'll let you know how that goes.