A Mother's Diary: 'Where There Is Dark, There Is Always Light'
The mother of a Virginia Tech freshman who lost two high school friends in Monday's masssacre wrote down her thoughts in the initial days following the shootings. Shari Sachs is the mother of Nicole Bonfiglio, who graduated last year from Westfield High School in Chantilly, Va., with her friends, Reema Samaha and Erin Peterson. The killer, Cho Seung- Hui, also graduated from Westfield, in 2003. Sachs went to Blacksburg to pick up her daughter on Tuesday, April 17. The two returned to their Northern Virginia home the same day. The diary excerpts are transcribed as written.
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4/17 – My daughter is but one of 25,000 students who attend Va Tech and thankfully unharmed physically by yesterday's tragic events. Nevertheless I was astounded and heart warmed at the outpouring of love and concern that I received yesterday checking to ensure she and I were okay.
I thought about how many people just I talked to, my parents and my daughter talked to. Just one student. Then thought about the tens of thousands of students families and friends all reaching out to one another with care and concern and the ripple affect of what is best about humanity that is created by senseless acts. How we grieve on so many levels–most tragically are the victims and their families. But something of this proportion creates community at so many levels–the college community; their families, the state and all across the nation. I don't know if people so filled with rage and anger realize that in their quest to harm and hurt, what they ultimately achieve is the opposite. As in 911–the ensuing aftermath brings out the best in humanity juxtaposed against the worst of it, and ultimately serves to bring us closer in our shared grief, sorrow and outrage.
Where there is dark, there is always light. The light in this horrific act is this. It makes us pause, reprioritize, and make sure we tell our children and friends we love them.
I know its hard to feel pity or sympathy for the perpetrator of these acts.
But I cannot imagine the pain, anguish and utter self hatred that must consume a human being for him to turn evil and heinous, and to feel that the only way to end that pain is to harm other fellow human beings. No doubt this person has parents and family too whose grief takes on a whole other form.
My daughter was one floor above where the dorm shooting took place when it took place. Its an eerie feeling, surreal–very hard if not impossible to make sense of. All day yesterday and last night I pondered what my role as parent should be. It ranged from the instinctive maternal reaction to run to her and to protect my "cub" to giving her the time and space she needed to sort it out and be with her friends. She was confused and didn't know what she wanted but I knew what I wanted. I wanted to hug her. That's it.
Many of the parents with children there also didn't know what to do–should we go, should we not–can we even get there? Do they need us and just afraid to say so–these part children; part adults–how do we be there for them when you can't scoop them up on your lap anymore? And what about the parents who had not heard from their kids.
When she finally called me this morning asking me to come get her I felt a sense of relief. I knew what I had to do. She wanted to "come home"–but mostly because she had learned about a friend she knew from high school that was killed in the carnage and another who was injured. She is 19 years old but always a child to me.
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4/17 – Its a very strange time. On the one hand I am thanking God (profusely) that she is okay–but it was too close for comfort–and on the other–its almost like survivor guilt–I don't know how to explain it–I can hardly think about the families who lost their kids in such a senseless, senseless act.
Unfortunately Nicole knew two of the kids fairly well–she went to high school with both of them–one was in the theatre group she hung out with and the other she played basketball with from day one of freshmen year she knew her and hung out at her house.
Her emotions are all over the place–she isn't sure what to feel but she has good coping mechanisms and so many, many friends. She told me how proud she is of her school and how she loves it even more now. I was there today when the convocation let out and I could not believe the sea of kids all in their maroon and orange t-shirts. There must have been 20,000 or more. Plus news media crawling all over the place and hundred and hundreds of state police. It seems really ironic that in that whole sea of tens of thousands she would know two–and two would have come from where she graduated–and the shooter from the same school as well.
It makes you think there is a higher plan ...
Also–the campus was remarkably beautiful today. Crisp blue sky punctuated by fluffy white clouds–the green trees and grass set against the white "hokie" stone. There seemed to be a calm–such an idyllic place for such ugliness to occur.
Okay I got off on a tangent but its really hard to not think what this means beyond what just happened.
And for sure it makes you realize how random what happens to whom can sometimes appear. And really, really, really count your blessings especially the main one.
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4/18 – its hitting me this a.m.–I feel like a bullet grazed Nicole and how thankful I am she is in her bed upstairs but I feel for the parents whose children aren't. We can't protect them and that is really, really scary. I guess I am more scared now about that. And you know as moms our strength kicks in for them–we stand tall so they can weep. But sometimes we need to fall apart too.
This is just the beginning–there will be funerals and memorial services–Westfield was touched in a unique way. I knew the class of 2006 was special. Never thought it would be something like this that would put them in the spotlight.
Nicole told me last night how proud she was of the Westfield class of 2006–they accounted for 54 of the 56 VT students from that class and knew Rema and Erin were missing long before anyone knew–they came together on "facebook"–Nicole from behind her locked dorm room while in lockdown–from colleges all over the country. This weekend they are all coming home converging to be with one another.
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4/19 – Its 3 in the morning and my heart is beating out of my chest. My daughter had some friends over tonight. I always like when they hang out here. Safe. The front door opening awoke me. It didn't alarm me; I figured the kids were just leaving. Then I heard something else. Not sure. But it's hard not to have the sights and sounds that keep replaying on the TV somewhere in your consciousness, especially in the wee, dark hours of the night.
I call for Nicole. No answer. I check her bed, the guest room–empty. I go downstairs to the basement. The TV is on but no one is there. No cars are still in the driveway. Where is she??? Where is my daughter??? Panic starts to set in. I can't get the menacing, eerie image playing over and over and over yesterday on the news out of my head. Why do they do that? Why can't they just show it once and not pick it apart. This isn't fiction; this isn't a movie–this is real life, and lives. Children are already scared.
Parents are trying to explain why "bad things" happen to them. I should have turned the TV off–I know. I have that "choice"–I tried to change the channel but the image was everywhere. Could we escape it anyway when it is so ubiquitous and as a country we are so glued to the unfolding of these events?
Where is she? I call her cell phone–no answer. The logical part of my brain knows she probably is somewhere but another side is stuck in this alternate reality where the unthinkable can happen at any place, any time. Random. After all, I think we think that our kids college classroom is about as safe as the basement downstairs. Something bad happened there. What parent could ever imagine their kid would go to French class in the morning and they would never see them again? So anything is possible right??
I call her friend–"Oh, she might have walked her boyfriend out to his car"–I call his phone. Answer. Big sigh ... Relief. Deep breath. It's different than the hundreds of other times I breathed a sigh when she wasn't answering on the other end or home at the exact prescribed minute. I walk out there to make sure anyway–in the night and the quiet. The image of a madman crazed and psychotic in my head.
Most of yesterday I was thinking about how much I had to learn from our kids. Especially this special and talented Westfield class of 2006 and their friends still at Westfield. Those of us who know them–parents, teachers–know what I am talking about. I am inspired by them and have deep admiration for them. Mostly I am proud of them and their ability to demonstrate to a country watching that "kids" can bring forth the most compelling attributes of human nature and to do it in a communal way and with courage. Despite the internet and facebook and cell phones and all that we say is destroying the fabric of our society–maybe even because of it. Their values are strong and deep.
How do we "move on" from here? No doubt this will shape the lives of every Tech student the way 911 shaped those who survived it. It will shape our nation too–it is already. But how do we parents stop panicking each time we don't get our kid on the cell phone or they aren't in their bed? How do we know where the next "Cho" lurks?
There is only one thing to do–I need to learn this as much as anyone. Hug your kid everyday–even through cyberspace. Tell them you love them often and make sure they know it. Your friends, too. And keep looking for and talking about "the light."
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