A Stone’s Throw by K. Irene Stone July 5, 2022

A Stone’s Throw by K. Irene Stone July 5, 2022
I told my coworker, Lucy, today while at work at El Progreso Memorial Library, that never in my lifetime
did I think I would live in a community that experienced a mass school shooting. Just wasn’t in my life’s
trajectory. Never in my wildest dreams of my future did I imagine this. Lucy agreed. It is surreal.
Today overall was surreal … which is the new normal in Uvalde. Pick up the Sunday “Leader News” and
you can read word for word the account of the surviving wounded teacher, Mr. Reyes. The horrid he
recounted – an eyewitness for the eleven children he lost – pays tribute to them and puts us in the
classroom with Evil in real time.
And as you are reading the unfolding of events on that fateful day, the hair rising up along your arms,
suddenly a news bulletin goes out that an active shooter is on the loose in town. Because that’s what
happened today … and we all dropped what we were doing (I threw the newspaper down) and ran to
bolt the doors. Certain ones were appointed as gatekeepers. Strategies were discussed about what to
do, where to escape or hide, how to fight (I am amazed at the number of people who are now carrying).
And then, just as sudden, the news that there is nothing to fear – a prank phone call from Oklahoma
(great, people are calling for fun to increase our anxiety) – our voices and bodies relax as we comment
that we would not have gone down without a fight (delayed bravado?). If there is one lesson we’ve
learned throughout this whole life changing experience, it is you cannot always depend on others to
come save you. We may be our last defense when Evil shows up on at our doorstep (read Mr. Reyes
account again – 77 minutes was an eternity to wait for help).
And, as our heartrates are calming back down, the activities of the day are ratcheting up. Books are still
arriving (up to 7,800 donated now); a group of teachers in Southington, Connecticut, sent us donations;
another teacher from California mailed us a complete activity project for children with markers, colored
pencils and drawing pads, etc.; hand-painted sympathy cards magically appear on my desk from Illinois,
and a card from a church in Houston arrives with a monetary gift because two Uvalde children attended
a church camp with them and spoke on how the Library helped them with fun programs. We even
received a clipping of the Washington Post’s article on the “Fierce Madres” for our Archives. The World
is sprawled out upon my desk in messy clusters of books, letters, checks, clippings, and notes of
condolences. And it is 44 days after May 24th.
Later, as visitors drop by (lots of visitors today – large groups) and the grand piano is being tuned – the
sharp dings of the keys reverberated among the bookshelves – representatives from the Victim’s
Resilience Center stop by to see the Library. Several of their volunteers were here last Friday, and they
papered the entry into our Rotunda with the many cards, letters, and artwork we have received from
across the country. We aptly named the display our “Tunnel of Love” – a visual reminder of the
overwhelming love Uvalde has experienced. The hand-painted cards I received today will be placed
there soon, a fitting addition to a collection that will grow and grow.
A man enters our office as I am about to call it a day and head home. He is from Maui, Hawaii, and he is
here to lead a healing ceremony at Robb Elementary School. I know it will be beautiful. We talk about
the ceremony, an ancient Hawaiian healing act, and how each movement releases an emotion. I cannot
attend tonight, but I promise him that as the sun sets, I will go outside on my hill at Stone Ridge, stand

by the windmill and dwell for a moment on his ceremony. He is gracious and appreciates my willingness
to be a part of the ceremony, even if miles away. For a week, he will be at the school, sunrise and
sunset, to preform and all are welcome to join him.
I climb in my car and go the roundabout way home on Hacienda Road to skip the busy downtown traffic.
It’s a peaceful path out of town that meanders between the railroad track on one side and the farmland
on the other – basically sandwiching me between a metal link to the outside world and the comfort of
home that the wheat fields signify. I pull up to the Highway 90 intersection, look to the “Welcome to
Uvalde” sign on my right, and, for the first time see the twenty-one crosses, evenly spaced in front of
the sign, that greet the World as it enters Uvalde. The beauty of the moment is again overcome by the
reality, and my drive becomes somber.
That’s why it is such a relief to make it home. No drama — just the cats, dog, and cows to greet me. I
grab a snack and sit to watch International House Hunters, my favorite TV escapism. The minutes tick
by, and the timer I set goes off. For a moment I am confused, then I remember — the sunset! I walk
outside, barefooted (please no scorpions), and snap a quick photo of the sunset.
I look west towards Uvalde where a man has travelled 3,553 miles to perform a ceremony of healing.
We are a strange land in comparison to his homeland of abundant rain, overgrown green jungles, cloud-
kissed mountains, and palm-shrouded beaches. But we are united in our desire to help others heal, and
in the process heal ourselves.
The sun starts to dip below the clouds at the horizon — it will be a mild sunset tonight, nothing dramatic
— and I close my eyes and remember the songs I have heard from scenes on Hawaii Five-O.
Interestingly, while I am not musically inclined, the melody comes to me, and I softly sway, humming,
and feel, for a moment, the joy of the movements.
Yes, I never thought I would live in a community that experienced a mass school shooting. And Uvalde, I
bet you didn’t either. It’s totally surreal. But here we are. And we are not alone on this journey … not
hardly.
#UvaldeStrong