by K. Irene Stone, UHS Class of 1978
Picture Credit: K. Irene Stone
A year is not long enough …
There will never be enough tears …
But there is plenty of fear …
Pick one of the above and run with it because there are plenty more platitudes where those came from here in Uvalde.
Try as I might to ignore the one-year anniversary, I find myself struggling to breathe under the weight of the very air here in Uvalde. The humidity this week is at odds to the day we will remember tomorrow, May 24, 2022. Then it was hot and dry. Dust filled the air. Today after all the recent rains, we find ourselves overwhelmed with the moisture-rich air, the abundance of green … and the heaviness of our empty arms and aching hearts.
I dreaded the anniversary day so much that I played a trick in my mind as I rested last night. A “what if” kind of game. “What if,” I mused to myself, “we woke on the 24th to find time had reset? What if It never happened. What if, miracle of miracles, we got a do-over?” I laid there and imagined what the twelve months, 52 weeks, and 365 days would be like if we could roll them back, you know, like the clock in Benjamin Buttons.
No press conference announcing the casualties to a stunned community,
No 77 minutes of eternity of the law enforcement inaction,
No ignoring 911 calls from the children,
No ”goodnight” greeting as the shooter enters Class 111.
Instead there’s a loud click as the outside door locks when slammed closed by a teacher,
A chain link perimeter fence remains unclimbable,
A brown truck being driven past the school continues own the highway,
An altercation with a grandmother never escalates,
And the happy students go home after an awards ceremony.
The seconds roll back one by one by one by one until 21 hearts are whole and beating.
And then the reset button is pushed.
May 24th resumes like any other last day of school. The children collect their backpacks when the final bell rings, board their buses or open the door to their parent’s car to head home. Laughter rings out as a slender girl plays with her puppies, another greets her cat. A young boy pitches a baseball, while one kicks his soccer ball. The golden May sunlight glints off smiling dirty faces. Tired families gather hungrily around the table for dinner. Bedtime prayers are said as tired little ones clutch their favorite stuffed animals and close their eyes.
Days turn into weeks. No makeshift memorials encircle the downtown plaza. Buildings facades don’t reflect murals of nineteen children and two mothers. A school will not be slated for demolition. Political activism is reserved for the politicians, not mourning parents marching with hurting hearts in their hands and fire in their eyes.
I know I am not alone in this dream. Everyone in Uvalde has dreamt this dream. Prayed for this dream. But it is not our reality, nor will it be our town’s reality tomorrow. Tomorrow will dawn, and we will be sick to our stomachs knowing there is no reset button big enough to change this day. We will gather with the families and hug them and cry with them and know this is the day. This is the day that evil came to Uvalde.
And so, one year later, we stand together to say the first of many anniversary goodbyes to 21 beautiful souls, our precious Los Anglelitos de Robb, as the world watches. After 365 days, we are still #UvaldeStrong.
