Sometimes they come at you like a brick through your window and land in your lap, bringing shattered glass and splinters, and no matter how much time has passed, you still have the scars and the sliver of wood under your skin that just won't go away.
Today is that day for me.
Today is a day that is seared in my brain like a hot brand on leather. I can't tell you anything about earlier in the day, but I remember vividly pulling in the driveway about 6 p.m. and seeing Kirk talking to neighbors, inviting them in to continue the conversation, and then answering the phone a few minutes later. It was Mr. Kresse from St. X. Kyle was on a mission trip to Appalachia, and the first thought that came to mind was that he had broken something and I was going to have to go get him. Would that it had been that simple.
I remember Mr. Kresse's voice on the other end, measured, quiet, saying, "There has been an accident at Glenmary. All of the boys from St. X are okay, but one of the students from another school has drowned..."
I remember the waves of relief that washed over me in that split second...first, that Kyle was okay, and second that all of the St. X boys were okay. Then I felt the anguish of the parents who were getting the phone call that it was THEIR child who had died. I remember thinking, "How would you make that phone call?"
Mr. Kresse said that some of the St. X boys had witnessed the drowning, but he didn't know who, and I prayed, prayed, that Kyle had not been there, even though I somehow knew it in my heart that Kyle had seen it.
The boys were coming home tonight, he said, and we were to meet them about 11 at the school. A sick sense of dread washed over me. My ears began to ring; my skin to crawl. My heart began beating in my throat. I was singularly focused on fixing it so that Kyle had not seen anything. I started praying, "Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there. Please, God, don't let Kyle have been there..." And because we had 4 hours or more until they arrived, I went back, explained the situation, and finished the conversation with the neighbors, screaming silently, "Would you please go the hell home???"
About 10, Kyle called from the road. "Hi Mom," he said.
I cried silently with relief, "Hi Buddy. How ya doing?"
"Umm, yeah, okay," he replied.
"Were you there?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, "I was there."
"I am so sorry, Kyle. I have been praying you weren't. Are you okay?"
"Not really," he answered. "I can't really talk now. I'm in a car with the other guys. I'll tell you when I get home. Okay?"
"Sure. No problem. I'll see you in a bit," I said, and when I hung up the phone, I just sobbed.
I drove to St. X early in case they arrived before 11. It was pouring down rain. Lightning. Thunder. Wind. Awful, awful storm that mirrored my anxiety. I waited in the parking lot, praying, praying, praying, watching for them to arrive. I drove from one side of the school to the other not sure which lot they would go to. I ran into Mr. Kresse who said they were actually going to meet over at the Speedway across the street for the shelter from the rain, so I drove over there and waited. I saw other anxious parents waiting in their cars, and we gave each other wan smiles as if to say, "Thank God it wasn't us."
The boys pulled in about midnight, delayed by the rain and the wind. They were all exhausted and hyped at the same time. I hugged Kyle, but not too much, and we loaded his things into the van and headed for home. He didn't talk much. He only wanted to tell the story once, so we waited until we were in the family room with Kirk, and then he broke down and sobbed, telling us the story through his tears. Details would continue to come out over the course of the next year, but we heard enough to know that this day would have a profound effect on us. And it was then that Finoy Lukose entered our lives and changed us forever.
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