Columbine

Before 1999, Columbine was just the name of a flower.

The state flower of Colorado.

Before 1999, Columbine was the place I spent 4 years of my life. It was a place that I walked the halls, attended classes, played volleyball and lacrosse, attended football games, laughed with friends, and eventually graduated from.

Since 1999, the word Columbine is now synonymous with tragedy. Columbine has become the title to an event in history. A stereotype. At times a cliche.

The way today makes me feel hasn't changed much over thirteen years.

I am pretty sure I am not alone.

I can still recall where I was and every chain of event as if it were yesterday.

I was a freshmen in college. My best friend, Cari, and I were hanging out at a friends house eating lunch - a McDonald's Big Mac - between classes. Cari turned on the TV and there was a picture of an all too familiar building. "BREAKING NEWS" flashed across the screen. The journalist's commentary failed to register as I stared at the words, "School Shooting" and "Columbine High School." I shook my head in disbelief and asked Cari if this was real.

She didn't answer.

"Is this real?"

Still no answer

I raised my voice, "Cari? Is this real?"

"I think so..." was all she was able to mutter.

I immediately glanced at my watch. Much like recess in elementary school, lunch breaks were easily ingrained in your memories as a student. My younger sister, Christi, was a sophomore still at Columbine. This was her lunch break.  

I reached for the phone as I started to registered words like shooters... cafeteria... library...

As I fumbled with a calling card - wouldn't you know the kid didn't have long distance on his phone - my adrenaline surged. I probably entered in that calling card number 20 times, my shaking hands fumbling to push the numbers and having to start over again and again. I was starting to hyperventilate. I couldn't get the damn calling card to work. What I would have given for my iPhone back then. Cari took the phone from me and dialed the number.

I called home.

I've traveled across the world - I have never felt so far away from home in my entire life.

My mother answered.

"Is. She. Okay."

It took every thing in my power at that moment to get those three words out of my mouth with any sense of control I had left.

"Yes! She is Here. Hold on..."

Yes... and my heart could beat again, my lungs breath again.

And when she spoke, "Sissy, I love you!"

...I cried. 

Christi was on her lunch period, standing in line in the cafeteria. While waiting, she remembered she never finished her homework for one of her afternoon classes that day. She stepped out of line and headed up the stairs towards the library. About half way up the stairs, she remembered she had left over Baskin Robins at home in the freezer. As she reached the top of the stairs, she thought to hell with the homework. There was something about that ice cream calling her name. She turned left instead of right, away from the library, exited the building, and walked three blocks home to indulge in her ice cream.

My Grandpa Eveleth loved ice cream. He passed away five months before Columbine. I can't help but believe that he was our guardian angel that day. On any other day, Christi would have known she wouldn't have enough time to walk home and get back in time for her next class, especially for just ice cream. But there was just something about that ice cream that she had to have, on that very day. 

I thank God every day for procrastination and ice cream whispers.

She missed the shooters entering the building by minutes.

She ate her ice cream and then started to walk back to school.

Some of her friends had made it to their car and fled the school. They saw her walking back towards Columbine, pulled over and told her what was happening.

She returned home.

Safe.

Alive.

The hours and days after that moment are no secret. They were televised nationally... globally. For months, this small community grieved - they still do. Families buried children. Physical wounds healed. Slowly picking up the pieces, life began to exist again.

There are still dark shadows lurking in memories. Broken hearts. Fear.

That's the hard part about anniversaries, sometimes they are sad.

Thirteen years...

Thirteen innocent lives lost...

The one good thing about anniversaries...

Columbine - NEVER FORGET!