She’s would have been 34 years old. Probably married and the mother of children. Instead she is buried in a small church cemetery west of town, and she will forever be a 15 year old girl. For years I passed the cemetery on my drive to work at the mill and looked north toward the cedar trees where she rests and I thought about her. Her parents. Her sister and brother. And my daughter, her best friend.

What began as an ordinary school day became one my family and many here in Western Kentucky cannot erase from our memories. It was the Monday after Thanksgiving break 1997. I was working the afternoon shift and hadn’t gone to bed the night before until about two in the morning, so I slept late. As usual, my kids caught the bus and went to school. My wife went to work. I remember getting up around 9:30 and was walking through the house when Tina and the two youngest came rushing in.

“Have you heard?” she asked.

“Heard what? What are ya’ll doing home? Why aren’t the girls at school and you at work?”

“There was a shooting at the school this morning. Kacey has been shot. Several have been shot and some may be dead.”

I was stunned. I was speechless.

She had wanted to run by the house to let me know our girls were okay before they all rushed out the door and headed to the hospital to check on my daughter’s best friend and the others. I was to wait at home until our oldest, at college, called. We didn’t want her to hear about the shooting, call home and not know that her sisters were okay. Those were the days before cell phones.

I turned on the television and watched in horror as the local reporters covered the horrific event as bits and pieces of information was made available to them.

Finally, the phone on the kitchen wall rang. I remember Tina crying and telling me our young neighbor didn’t make it. She was gone.

I hung up the phone, and my knees buckled. I managed to lean against the wall as I slid to the floor. I was 45 years old and for the first time since I was a child I cried. I wept. It was as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere within me and the dam burst. Our age of innocence was gone forever.

My middle daughter’s life was changed, too. Of course we all were, but I was most worried about her since she had just lost her best friend.

As I mentioned before, it’s been 19 years ago today. Had someone told me back then what an emotional rollercoaster we would ride because of that shooting I wouldn’t have believed it. I can only imagine what all the others have gone through. Many suffered much worse. Much, much worse.

Without going through all the stages of our griefs I can tell you it hasn’t gone away. At first it was overwhelming. To watch my daughter go through hers’ has been heart wrenching.

Folks here note the anniversary of the school prayer group shooting in different ways. Most keep their thoughts to themselves, but they still remember. The grief isn’t as overpowering as it once was. I can say that it now bothers me that I no longer cry on the anniversary of those three girls’ deaths. But there is an emptiness inside that I cannot describe. An emptiness of lives lost and futures unfulfilled.

The boy that shot them came from a good family. They are victims as well.

Each passing year the grief becomes more bearable. Do I want it to end? No. If it ended we would forget, and we don’t want to forget the lives that touched ours. As long as we remember those lost we honor their memory. And I assure you, they are worth remembering.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes;
and there shall be no more death neither sorrow,
nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain;
for the former things are passed away. Revelations 21: 4

_______________
Rick Algood
December 1, 2016