By Jill Fox
The sound of the news helicopters brought back memories of my days in the feed room at NBC, and watching the chopper land right outside my window. In those days, the news was bad — I saw horrible things I often still think about.
Sheets draped over motorcycle crash victims way too often, a car chase flying down a highway at ungodly speeds, a child laying lifeless in a dirty swimming pool. However, when you see it that often, it becomes routine. It’s terrible to say, but you get used to it.
This was incredibly different. Maybe it was the eight or so years that had passed, or perhaps it was that this time it was in my backyard, but it was unforgettable.
Three years ago, I traveled in a sea of bloodshot eyes, undone hair, and traces of mascara. Each person looked like they hadn’t slept in days and had surely spent time sobbing. Sounds of phone alerts filled the air — whether social media updates about victims or texts from concerned friends and family. Shaking voices were heard as people told their stories — whom they knew or knew of — a girl from their synagogue, someone in their daughter’s dance class or the adjacent gated community.
I remember seeing my neighbors so overcome with emotion that they didn’t know what to do next. From pacing around our cul de sac to screaming in agony in their driveway, and so many cars coming and going at all hours — this was our new reality.
I’m not going to claim that I knew how the 17 families felt, and I thank God for that as much as possible. But for my husband and me, watching it from just a few doors down put it in perspective.
My son at 8-years-old experienced his first candlelight vigil. He sat on daddy’s shoulders as if he was watching a concert, crowded in the same amphitheater where he was handed his flag football trophy just a few months before. He mentioned how he wanted a better look at the lighted angels on the stage and referred to them as “decorations,” as only my son would do.
He listened to the names of the victims read one by one as members of the community bawled, while the MSD senior class president, so thoughtful and composed, announced each one.
My son observed the 17 paper lanterns fly off into the distance without realizing what they stood for. He wanted to play in the park, and I had to tell him no. This wasn’t the time. We were there to pay our respects to the victims and their families.
I looked at the pictures of the victims and their families, and I ached for them. A photo of a mom and dad, a son and daughter, a dog or two, and a Star of David around someone’s neck. That could be my family a few years down the road.
Here on Valentines’ Day, the Facebook feeds look a little different. I do see an occasional picture of kids dressed in red with cards in hand, but most are emotional stories of remembrance. All are full of love.
Gone are the days of big celebrations on 2–14.
Instead, we grieve. We grieve for our neighbors just three doors down, who lost their 14-year-old son. We grieve for the 16 other families who lost someone that day, and for the thousands of students who witnessed things no one should see in their lifetime.
I’m proud to live in a community where we stand together and support one another. In the past three years, I have been lucky enough to meet some of the families who suffered a loss- people I probably wouldn’t have come to know otherwise.
Watching these families and what they have accomplished inspires me to be a better person. I would like to think I have become more kind, I know I am friendlier. I talk to more people in public, and I try not to hide in my own little Parkland bubble. I hug my children, even when they act like assholes, and I tell them I love them every morning and every night.
The city I live in, our community where we joke about our silly “Parkland problems” will never be the same. People poke fun at Parkland’s affluent neighborhoods with our fancy cars and golf carts, but if they could witness the outpouring of love and generosity that consumes us on a daily basis, it would change their view of Parkland.
Today, we will celebrate love, but not in a traditional Valentine’s Day fashion. We will open cards and eat some chocolate, but we will also light a luminary at the end of our driveway and stand in silence to honor the victims with or without a trace of helicopters in the background.
