seven years later.
I still get goosebumps when I hear about Columbine. There has not been an April 20th since 1999 where I have not stopped and remembered what happened that year. It's a rarity that I am able to read an article or see something on the news, about the massacre, and not start crying.
April 20, 1999 is still so vivid to me. I sat in the waiting room of the ICU at Fairfax Hospital. Grandad was not doing well, and I think we all knew the end was near. I was readying myself to accept losing him. He was my sweet, fantastic, loving, wonderful grandfather and losing him was and still is, the hardest thing that I've ever gone through. At the time of his death, he'd been married to Nanny for 52 years, had 10 kids and 25 grandchildren. He has lived life to its fullest, and then some. So, as heartbreaking as it was to begin to process the possibilty of losing him, on April 20 I was already preparing for that.
One of my last, and certainly one of the most vivid, memories of Grandad was a week or so earlier, on Easter Sunday. We'd just gone to Mass, and were hanging around for a few minutes afterwards. My cousins were running on the grass, I was talking to my sisters, there were aunts and uncles there, my parents were both there. The pastor came over and said "Happy Easter, John -- how are you?" And my grandfather just kind of gestured over at all of us (not the whole family was there, but enough of his kids and grandkids to fill a pew) and said, "I'm good. I mean, just look." I just happened to observe the exchange, and it made my heart so happy.
So, I know Grandad was happy with his life. I know that all ten of his children, and most of his older grandchildren, were able to say goodbye to him. He knew that he was loved, he had lived an amazing life.
This is why Columbine hit me so hard. As I sat in that waiting room, trying to wrap my head around the iminent loss of Grandad (he would die just over a week later, on 4/29), I was suddenly shocked and horrified to see the news break about this unthinkable tragedy. I was in a consistent state of nausea as I watched the footage of kids running from the school, of parents in unimaginable amounts of fear. I couldn't stop crying as they started to tally and release the names of those who were killed. Over the next week, all you were seeing on television was coverage of the Columbine tragedy.
All I could think of, truly, was the tragedy of it all. I could understand how a man near 80 years old was dying of natural causes. I could not wrap my brain around the absolutely senseless death of teenagers at the hands of their peers. I was thankful that we all had a chance to come to terms with losing Grandad before he died, and that we got to say goodbye. It hurt my heart to know that so many parents lost children that they might not have said "I love you to" in months, or that they may have been fighting with that morning. All I could think or say was, "This shouldn't have happened." I know that in a lot of ways, this is one of the things that solidified my desire to become a youth minister (I was volunteering at the time). If I could help people like Dylan and Eric know for even a moment that they are loved, maybe they would rethink harming others. If I could teach young people to be more accepting of each other, maybe that would lessen the rage and hurt that their classmates feel (the kind of rage the led Dylan and Eric to these actions). If I could work to teach kids about Jesus, then maybe they would get to know Him, and if, God forbid, they were ever taken far before we were ready for them to go...well, then they'd be a little more prepared to meet Him face to face.
I look at post-Columbine in a similar light to post-9/11. After both of those, everyone was a little nicer to people around them. A little more aware of their actions. Gentler, kinder. I know that sometimes I'm a bit of a Pollyanna, but it saddened me on both occasions when it went back to 'business as usual.' Gone was the kindness, the awareness. Maybe today, you could try to bring a bit of that back? It would be a beautiful way to honor those who were taken much too soon.
April 20, 1999 is still so vivid to me. I sat in the waiting room of the ICU at Fairfax Hospital. Grandad was not doing well, and I think we all knew the end was near. I was readying myself to accept losing him. He was my sweet, fantastic, loving, wonderful grandfather and losing him was and still is, the hardest thing that I've ever gone through. At the time of his death, he'd been married to Nanny for 52 years, had 10 kids and 25 grandchildren. He has lived life to its fullest, and then some. So, as heartbreaking as it was to begin to process the possibilty of losing him, on April 20 I was already preparing for that.
One of my last, and certainly one of the most vivid, memories of Grandad was a week or so earlier, on Easter Sunday. We'd just gone to Mass, and were hanging around for a few minutes afterwards. My cousins were running on the grass, I was talking to my sisters, there were aunts and uncles there, my parents were both there. The pastor came over and said "Happy Easter, John -- how are you?" And my grandfather just kind of gestured over at all of us (not the whole family was there, but enough of his kids and grandkids to fill a pew) and said, "I'm good. I mean, just look." I just happened to observe the exchange, and it made my heart so happy.
So, I know Grandad was happy with his life. I know that all ten of his children, and most of his older grandchildren, were able to say goodbye to him. He knew that he was loved, he had lived an amazing life.
This is why Columbine hit me so hard. As I sat in that waiting room, trying to wrap my head around the iminent loss of Grandad (he would die just over a week later, on 4/29), I was suddenly shocked and horrified to see the news break about this unthinkable tragedy. I was in a consistent state of nausea as I watched the footage of kids running from the school, of parents in unimaginable amounts of fear. I couldn't stop crying as they started to tally and release the names of those who were killed. Over the next week, all you were seeing on television was coverage of the Columbine tragedy.
All I could think of, truly, was the tragedy of it all. I could understand how a man near 80 years old was dying of natural causes. I could not wrap my brain around the absolutely senseless death of teenagers at the hands of their peers. I was thankful that we all had a chance to come to terms with losing Grandad before he died, and that we got to say goodbye. It hurt my heart to know that so many parents lost children that they might not have said "I love you to" in months, or that they may have been fighting with that morning. All I could think or say was, "This shouldn't have happened." I know that in a lot of ways, this is one of the things that solidified my desire to become a youth minister (I was volunteering at the time). If I could help people like Dylan and Eric know for even a moment that they are loved, maybe they would rethink harming others. If I could teach young people to be more accepting of each other, maybe that would lessen the rage and hurt that their classmates feel (the kind of rage the led Dylan and Eric to these actions). If I could work to teach kids about Jesus, then maybe they would get to know Him, and if, God forbid, they were ever taken far before we were ready for them to go...well, then they'd be a little more prepared to meet Him face to face.
I look at post-Columbine in a similar light to post-9/11. After both of those, everyone was a little nicer to people around them. A little more aware of their actions. Gentler, kinder. I know that sometimes I'm a bit of a Pollyanna, but it saddened me on both occasions when it went back to 'business as usual.' Gone was the kindness, the awareness. Maybe today, you could try to bring a bit of that back? It would be a beautiful way to honor those who were taken much too soon.