When I was in Junior High, a boy from my neighborhood died. He and three of his friends were driving in the canyon at night, both of the boys died. The two girls in the back seat had some injuries but survived.
It was a Sunday morning when someone in the ward called my mom to give her the news. I remember crying. A lot. We went to church and I could see I wasn’t the only one who had been.
I hardly even knew the boy. Mostly just his little brother who was still a year older than me and in my mind, the “cool kid” from down the street.
I just remember being really sad for them. Our neighborhood was (and still is) pretty tight knit, so it affected a lot of people.
School was different, too. All of the kids involved were in High School at the time, but the sadness and comfort and good ol’ AF pride crept down into the younger grades and we all kind of came together.
A few weeks ago, I was at Costco just moseying through the isles. I looked up and I saw her. One of the girls who was in the accident.
She was walking alongside her husband who was pushing the cart. And in the cart, their baby. I just stared for a while as they walked away from me. It was just kind of, amazing.
Something so tragic, so awful, something that so profoundly impacted a community…and she survived it. She lived. Maybe at the time she didn’t know why, maybe it hurt so much that she wondered why not her? I bet she knows now.
Strolling through the store, with her family on her arm. She survived for a reason. She survived for them.
Beauty truly can be found in the darkest of places.