The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight...
I don't know anybody at Virginia Tech.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about Pan Am 103. Next year will be the 20th anniversary of the bombing over Lockerbie, and Syracuse University and the loved ones of the 270 victims are still grieving for those lives lost. I was too young to remember PA103, and had no connection with the victims or to the events of that December day until I joined the SU community in August 2002. It never actually hit me until a field trip to the university archives in October 2005.
On that day, I pored over boxes and binders, newsclippings, letters, photographs and belongings of the 35 students who perished. Getting to know them, and the university community at the time, through those stories and letters, and remembrances tore my heart apart. Tears ran down my face as I sat there, reading and looking, just trying to absorb the magnitude of what happened. After some time, I finally collected myself, gathered up my belongings, and went home to compose a letter to Nick Vrenios' parents, who live in Bethesda. Nick grew up in DC. On the surface, I did not have much in common with Nick. He was a junior majoring in photography. He played guitar, skateboarded, and wrote poetry. But as I read his poetry, I began to realize that he struggled with the some of the same issues that I do, for example, our place in the world, our faith, our need and lack of self-discipline. He was an optimist and a risk-taker. He was full of dreams and ambitions, hopes and fears, doubts and frustrations. He wasn't just some kid who died. He became a real person to me, he would go far if he just had the chance.
I grieved for Nick and his 34 classmates, and the other 235 victims that day and over Remembrance Week. I still grieve, and yet I do not personally know any of them.
I cannot imagine what it must feel like to have known any of the 35 SU students, the other 224 victims on the plane, or the 11 Scots on the ground. Likewise, I cannot imagine what it feels like for the families and loved ones of the 33 victims at Virginia Tech. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have a child, a parent, a husband, a brother, or a dear friend taken away from me, so senselessly, so tragically, so mercilessly.
The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight.
I haven't been able to stop thinking about Pan Am 103. Next year will be the 20th anniversary of the bombing over Lockerbie, and Syracuse University and the loved ones of the 270 victims are still grieving for those lives lost. I was too young to remember PA103, and had no connection with the victims or to the events of that December day until I joined the SU community in August 2002. It never actually hit me until a field trip to the university archives in October 2005.
On that day, I pored over boxes and binders, newsclippings, letters, photographs and belongings of the 35 students who perished. Getting to know them, and the university community at the time, through those stories and letters, and remembrances tore my heart apart. Tears ran down my face as I sat there, reading and looking, just trying to absorb the magnitude of what happened. After some time, I finally collected myself, gathered up my belongings, and went home to compose a letter to Nick Vrenios' parents, who live in Bethesda. Nick grew up in DC. On the surface, I did not have much in common with Nick. He was a junior majoring in photography. He played guitar, skateboarded, and wrote poetry. But as I read his poetry, I began to realize that he struggled with the some of the same issues that I do, for example, our place in the world, our faith, our need and lack of self-discipline. He was an optimist and a risk-taker. He was full of dreams and ambitions, hopes and fears, doubts and frustrations. He wasn't just some kid who died. He became a real person to me, he would go far if he just had the chance.
I grieved for Nick and his 34 classmates, and the other 235 victims that day and over Remembrance Week. I still grieve, and yet I do not personally know any of them.
I cannot imagine what it must feel like to have known any of the 35 SU students, the other 224 victims on the plane, or the 11 Scots on the ground. Likewise, I cannot imagine what it feels like for the families and loved ones of the 33 victims at Virginia Tech. I cannot imagine what it feels like to have a child, a parent, a husband, a brother, or a dear friend taken away from me, so senselessly, so tragically, so mercilessly.
The streets of heaven are too crowded with angels tonight.