Life lessons.

I’ll never forget the morning it happened. I came to work at my usual time, around 8, and was quickly told there was a horrible car accident. Involving students.

I got on the phone immediately to call the high schools in town. But because probably a million parents had the same idea, I couldn’t get through. And when I finally did I was told that two teenage girls from the Catholic high school were killed instantly when a semi hit the car they were driving. Worse, one of their mothers saw the whole thing happen as she was driving behind them.

We’ll probably never know why the girls pulled out from that intersection that day, or if the sun was in their eyes, or if they were late for school. I guess that’s part of death, there are always questions left unanswered.

The days that followed the accident are still a blur for me. I spent much of my time doing what I do – reporting from their school. I talked to best friends of both who died, I held teenagers while they cried, in particular one of the girl’s boyfriends really opened up to me, and I watched staff members do everything they could to keep it together for their students. In the midst of all of the reporting, there were tears. My tears. I remember one moment in particular – a prayer service in the school’s gymnasium. I stood next to the president of the school system and at a certain point that day I stopped being a reporter. I put my notebook down and when everyone held hands to pray, I did the same. My hand and the president of the system’s hand locked. Together, we cried.

I’ve been accused of a lot of things in my short journalism career. You know how it goes, I have an agenda, a hidden one even, I don’t have a heart and I’m bias. But when push comes to shove, I will always be a person before I am a journalist. It’s a rule I’ve placed on myself. One I’m comfortable with. Some may say it was unprofessional for me to put down my notebook that day one year ago, but I think otherwise. I think I was just being human.

Next week the school will gather in the same gymnasium to remember the young girls who died. It’s been one year since that tragic day. I went to both of the girls’ funerals, hugged their friends, guidance counselors and their dance coach. I wrote many stories as they related to the accident in the best way possible so that their families would hopefully respect me. I feel like I knew them. More, I can see myself in these young high school girls and their friendships.

This morning, I sat down at the high school with four close friends of the two that died. I’ve interviewed all of them in the past through tears and denial, frustration and anger. But today, I interviewed very different girls than I have in the past. They’ve grown, they’ve changed, they are mature young women. Admirable young women who are still down two friends. But they can laugh. And tell stories about their two friends who they love and miss very much.

For two hours, we talked today. And there wasn’t a tear, which was just amazing to me. They shared with me what they’ve been through, how they’ve grown and why it’s so important to keep their friends’ memories alive. These girls are 17 and 18 years old and in some senses, at least when it comes to death, they are more mature than I think I would be.

All of the students at that high school have learned important life lessons during the past year. Live life to the fullest. Don’t hesitate. Stand up for what you believe in. Be a friend to everyone. Have faith. Lessons that take most adults years to learn and truly understand. I’m not jealous that they’ve learned these lessons early in life, because they’ve had to go through truly horrible circumstances to learn the lessons, but I do wish I could handle death as easily as they seem to.

I am honored that everyone from that school has let me in, both one year ago and again today. When I walk into that school, they are a family, and they welcome me as one would. There is no professional hand shaking, just hugs that come from the students and staff. Seriously, hugs.

To date, this has been one of the hardest things in my very young journalistic career to cover. But through the tears, the hugs and now the laughter, I’m proud that I was a part of it.