I was having a typical busy Friday
in December, you know, the kind when you have your sister and her family
visiting from across the globe (they currently live in Sydney, Australia), and
so I had hustled to get the stuff done that I needed to get done first thing so
that I could enjoy every drop of time visiting with them as I could.
My big plans for the day included
“dates” with two of my nephews.
I took the littlest first. We decided to go out for a treat. His mom had suggested Starbucks, and I
love me a pumpkin spice latte, so we headed there. On our way, though, we discussed what kind of treat he was
hoping for and he told me a gluten free gingerbread lady. I started to get nervous about the
gluten free options at Starbucks. Plus,
the time had crept past the 11:00 pick up time for him, and the Starbucks
that’s two blocks from mom’s house is across the street from the high school. I waited at the light while about a
million highschoolers walked casually across the street, in no hurry, not
caring if their light was actually green or not. I pulled into a parking spot, and we walked in, to find wall-to-wall
people. Several sweet highschool
girls smiled at Littlest, smiled at Arthur, and complimented me on how cute
they both were. When we got close
enough to the treat case to see what was inside and found no gluten free
options, looked around the crowded coffee shop and found no tables, I convinced
him that we should head on over to Whole Foods, a few blocks away, at Streets
of Southglenn, for a better treat.
We found delicious gluten free
chocolate chip cookies, he got to pick out a special juice, I got a latte, and
we had a great visit about what his favorite thing is about Sydney
(boats). He has a pretty short
attention span. I had about
fifteen minutes to kill before I was meeting Ellie and Middlest for lunch and
to swap boys with her.
Littlest and I walked around the
Streets of Southglenn for awhile, looked at the ice skaters, stomped around in
the snow, then headed to Chick-fil-a to meet up for lunch.
A quick glance through Chick-fil-a
showed that we had beaten them there, and I opted to take the three-year-old
back outside to keep him occupied.
As we walked out into the
sunshine, there was a table of three girls, two with Arapahoe Highschool sweatshirts
on. I see them put down a cell
phone, hands go to cover mouths.
One girl gets up and starts pacing.
Littlest and I pass them. He points at a firetruck that passes by
us with the siren going. Then two
more police cars go by us. I’m
registering that something’s not right, but I mostly just do the same internal
prayer that I always do when I see a firetruck racing down the street. I know what it’s like to be the person
that’s called for those paramedics.
I know that panic. I think
about the bad day that that person is having.
I turn back to look at the table
of girls, and full panic has set in, one of the girls is still pacing but is
now hysterical.
I look down at Littlest and say,
“I think those girls might be sad or hurt. I think we should go talk to them.” So I walked up to the table and asked,
“Are you guys ok? Can I help?”
They told me that there had just been a shooting at Arapahoe
Highschool.
Their whole lives had changed and
I had watched it happen.
I stayed with them. I kept telling the hysterical girl to
take deep breaths, and rubbed her back.
I kept them talking. They
did better when they were talking.
I kept telling them that we didn’t know yet how bad it was, so let’s try
not to worry until we know. This
was difficult to keep in the forefront of the mind, though, as we watched
ambulance after ambulance after firetruck after firetruck after police car
after police car race by. One girl
called her mom, and so I waited with them until their mom got there. I introduced myself. I gave them Kleenex. We talked through where their brother
would be.
“What time is it?”
“It’s 12:30.” I said.
“He has first lunch.” She tells
me.
“Does that mean that he’s still at
lunch or is first lunch over by 12:30?”
I ask her.
“No, it’s fifth hour.” She says.
“Good. Do you know what class he has fifth hour?”
“Um, no?” She says, panicked.
Ok, Noel, that’s not helping anymore. Get her to talk about something else. So, I asked them, “Guys, this might be
weird, but, I’m wondering if it would be ok if I prayed for us?”
“Yes. Would you please?” Said the girl who didn’t know what her
brother had fifth hour.
So we prayed together for a few
minutes. We moved between praying
and talking, praying and talking. The reality of what had just happened began
to dawn on them slowly; gradually new realizations would hit them, but mostly
they kept asking the same question.
“How did this happen?”
“Oh my gosh you guys, I’m so glad
we weren’t in there.”
“How did this happen?”
Littlest, who can be a bit of a
rascal, just sweetly held my hand the whole time, dialed in to the fact that
these girls needed help. Ellie and
Middlest came by at some point and she took the nephews inside to get food,
while I stayed with the girls.
And then their mom came. What a beautiful hug that was. I stayed long enough to make sure they
didn’t need anything else, then went inside to join my family, and I completely
fell apart.
You guys, my heart is broken. I share the same area code with other
tragedies like Columbine and Aurora, but they are not in parts of town that I spend a
lot of time in. This happened two
blocks from my mom’s house. At the
highschool that my brother and sister graduated from. It’s the school where my friends’ babysitters go. This is my neighborhood.
I keep thinking about the girl
that was shot. Did she have first
lunch? Was she one of the girls
that I encountered at Starbucks?
Is she the one that held the door for us? Or the one that thought that Arthur and Littlest were so
cute? Was she part of the crowd
that I was annoyed at that took too long at the light?
Really, I find myself meditating with
the sweet girls at Chick-fil-a.
How did this happen?
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| Arapahoe Highschool Warriors |
