Twenty Years...

It's now been twenty years since TWA Flight 800 crashed and changed the course of many lives from my hometown of Montoursville.

Over the years I've written a great deal about my experience with Flight 800, both publicly and privately.
(See previous years' entries here: http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2012/07/forever-changed-in-blink-of-eye.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2013/07/remembering-friends_17.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2014/07/countless-ways-to-tell-story.html
http://anythingbutsupermom.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-world-they-knew.html )

I had ideas running through my mind for yet another entry, especially since twenty years is a pivotal point (although every year feels pivotal for one reason or another). I decided to go back to the original source of where I recorded my thoughts and feelings in the aftermath of what we all began referring to as "the crash". I feel that in order to gain some sense of what it was like as a 17-year-old in the midst of the Flight 800 tragedy, I would let my journals tell a little bit of the story.

It could go without saying that this was my first journal entry after the crash. I wrote 7 pages detailing the longest night of my life, which started around 11:30 p.m. on July 17, 1996 when I learned about TWA Flight 800 and its connection to my hometown. Even if I hadn't written anything down, I am fairly certain I would still remember everything about that awful night.

I wanted to write so much about what I was experiencing, but it wasn't an easy task. Between spending time with friends, going to the school, talking on the phone and watching the news, the days were long and full. But it was good not to be alone.

With my birthday at the end of May and having a swimming pool at my house, I had pool parties for my 15th and 16th birthdays. I don't know why I didn't at 17. However, the friend that I chose to invite up to swim shortly after school let out was Monica. I can still see us kicking around on a raft, chatting and giggling about our new boyfriends. I am forever thankful for that memory, and for the other days I got to see her that summer, the last day being July 15.

(I apologize for the breaks in this entry, it was just the best way I could edit it.) I dreaded the start of the new school year like never before. My senior year was supposed to be fun and exciting! Everything had changed, and my biggest fear was that Flight 800 would be forgotten: that the school would be oversensitive, and/or that we would not be allowed to talk about it. In retrospect, it was a ridiculous fear. There may have been some missteps, and at times it seemed they (school) would try to avoid mentioning Flight 800 (or maybe I was oversensitive). As an adult, I can see the other side of it now. It was an extremely tough situation for our entire town to face, and I can't even imagine trying to navigate how to begin a school year after losing so many students and maintain some kind of normalcy. The year wasn't "normal" like my previous years of high school, but it was a new normal. It was okay, and hard as it was, I learned that life had to continue moving forward. 

I also began keeping a journal of letters to Monica. Some times I wrote as if she were still here, other times I wrote about the tragedy and how much I missed her. It helped me work through the grieving process that first year. My letters to her were less frequent after the first anniversary, and my last letter to her was in 2001.

I could write something nearly identical to that right now. I am pretty certain that it has crossed my mind every day since it happened. Even if I don't dwell on it, it can just be a flash of thought: "Flight 800". No matter what, it has never left my mind.

This entry (from late October 1996) detailed an evening at a friend's house with ten or so of us hanging out. Our friends that we lost were still at the forefront of our memories and conversations. Monica had her first serious boyfriend shortly before she died, and the story of how they got together was neat (and I witnessed a good portion of that story). "The other puke story" was the night we randomly met up with a guy from her church (Matt) and his friend (Dave) at the mall and ended up going bowling with them. Monica's Auntie Anne's Glazin' Raisin pretzel and strawberry slush didn't end up sitting so well with her. Our night ended shortly after that (all the while she managed to hide the fact she puked, even though it was in the trash can in front of the bowling alley), and afterwards, we thought we could double date--Monica and Matt and me and Dave. Long story short, Monica and Dave ended up together (and I did not end up with Matt). Now I can look back on that story and smile. But at that time, I was taken aback by the rush of emotions of an interruption that would've never bothered me otherwise.

During that first year, I journaled quite a bit about Flight 800 (and also just the every day normal life of being a high school senior). It was often the subject of writing assignments in my AP English class. I decided to be brave enough to make it the subject of my Psychology report. The report would use data collected from surveys sent around to a sampling of the student population. I earned an "A", and while I still have all of the surveys that were filled out, the report disappeared from the board (where everyone's reports were hanging) and I was never able to take it home.

When I went to college, I would once again use Flight 800 as the subject of another Psychology report and a few English essays. I spoke on it in my oral communications class, and referenced it in a technical writing report. It was a part of my life, and it was therapeutic for me to share my experience, especially in college where people remembered hearing about Flight 800, but had no direct connection to it. I wanted my friends to live on and to show that their brief lives had meaning.

Now here I am, twenty years on the other side. There has been so much that has happened in my life during that span, and at times I can hardly believe that I am 37, that I'm (equally) responsible for the lives of three lovely daughters, and that I drive a minivan (never say never)! I have endured other losses; my three grandparents that were living at the time of Flight 800 have passed away. I dealt with my first marriage falling apart in a really ugly way while I was pregnant with my first daughter. Yet Flight 800 remains the event with the most impact on my life thus far.

This weekend, I had the opportunity to share with my oldest daughter a little bit more about Flight 800. She knows why her middle name is Monica, and she knows basically what happened (as much as a 10-year-old can grasp about something that happened ten years prior to her birth). I decided at the last minute to come to Montoursville to participate in the Memorial 5K as I felt a strong pull to do so. Averey was a willing participant, and the other three people in our family came along and stayed at my parents' house. The night before, we had to go and get her some new sneakers though, as her feet hit a growth spurt. After we found a pair, I asked her if she would mind going to the cemetery so I could show her where a majority of the victims are buried. She obliged, and we headed up to the peaceful hill with a beautiful view of the sunset. It had been a long time since I had been up there, and it still strikes me how unreal it is to see all of those graves with the same end to their dash -July 17, 1996.

I'm not often in Montoursville around the anniversary, but when I am, it is a mix of emotions. I was especially glad to be able to spend a little time with Monica's parents at the 5K. It was awesome to be there with all of those people who remembered. Yet it still hurts that an event such as that exists because of the 21 we lost. They say that time heals all wounds. Twenty years later, the wounds may be healed, but the scars will always remain.

That Time We All Lost Our Marbles at Dinner

I am pretty sure that last night will go down in history as one of our Worst. Dinners. Ever.

Complete meltdowns were had by 4/5 of us.

Let's back it up here. A few months ago, I had a pinteresting idea that I would get a chalkboard to hang in our dining room so I could be artsy and give the kids full warning what was to come for dinner. (This is mainly directed at Averey, who at 10 is still the pickiest eater I've ever known.) Last night was no exception. The menu board read: 8 Layer Casserole. With egg noodles, ground beef with tomato sauce and spices, spinach, a delicious cream cheese/sour cream/onion sauce and cheddar cheese on top, it was not a new menu item, and other than Averey, the rest of us have gobbled it up. Should have been an easy dinner, one that would soon be forgotten.

Should. Have. Been.

It all started with Kelsey, which was quite a surprise since "picky" is not a word I would use to describe her. She took a bite, claimed she didn't like it (never mind the two helpings she had the last time I made it), and got down from the dinner table. Right away, trouble was brewing since no one should get down from their seat until we are all (mostly) done. She wanted to escape to her room, and I knew all too well she was after her tablet.

Jacey refused to take a bite until she had some ranch dressing at her side. Jake wanted to her to take a bite first. The whining sobbing ensued.

Averey remained silent, but her looks of disgust as she pushed her food around her plate to make it look as though she were eating made it quite obvious how she was feeling about dinner.

Kelsey then flopped herself on the floor, crying because we were telling her to sit at the table. Not even asking her to eat, mind you, just sitting. At this point, both Jake and I were raising our voices (with our mouths full; we weren't going hungry!), and all of the idle threats I make about taking toys came full force into action. I grabbed Kelsey's tablet and put it on my closet shelf. I took their Legos that they had so nicely been playing with each other before dinner, threw them in their container and shoved that at the top of my closet. I was on a roll, and so I took the giant container of Wegmans Organic Animal Cookies that they can't seem to get enough of, slapped some painter's tape over the lid, and said, "NO ONE IS EATING THESE!" and found that I had no room at the top of my closet for them. Jake says, "What if I want some?" So I put them on his dresser.

There was yelling, screaming, Jake and I sounding all-parenty-like saying, "If we had acted this way at dinner when we were kids..."

If we had any composure, it was gone. (It didn't stop us from eating seconds though.)

I was sick of all of the fussing, crying, whining, and just general unacceptable behavior. Jacey told me she didn't like me. Well, kid, I wouldn't exactly call you likable at this particular unlovely episode!

But then Jake talked to Kelsey and she settled. Jacey calmed down enough to take a bite of her food. And I went in the bedroom, trying to calm down, pray, and swallow the tears that were stinging my eyes.

The poor lone man in our house came in, rubbed my back and said it would be okay. I said, "This is all I ever wanted!" The three kids I had dreamed about (once upon a time it was six, half of that is perfectly fine, thankyouverymuch) had worn me down into a yelling hot mess.

He said, "You get the good with the bad!"

Within the hour, the four of us ladies sat at the dining room table, coloring, enjoying being in one another's presence. I got the good.

(And the Legos and tablet are still at the top of my closet. I'm still trying to figure out how they can "earn" them back. It might be awhile. I'm still rattled from the ordeal.)

The World They Knew

There was a night, not long ago, when the world stopped for the town of Montoursville, PA. When I think about July 17, 1996, the picture of that morning is starkly contrasted with the memory of what happened that night. It doesn't seem so long ago that 16 students from the Montoursville High School French Club and their five chaperones were heading to France. It doesn't seem so long ago that I heard the news that their plane, TWA Flight 800, crashed off the coast of Long Island, and took the lives of 230 people.

And yet here it is, July 17, 2015. The world has changed a lot in 19 years. Since I was 17 when it happened, I have known more life "after Flight 800" than I did "before Flight 800." But for our friends, the world of July 17, 1996, was the world they knew.

I run the risk of sounding like my parents when I say, "Well, when I was a kid, life was better, life was simpler, blah blah blah." But that's exactly where I'm going with this, especially since I have kids who hear these statements of nostalgia. For instance, when my 9-year-old asked when I got my first cell phone and I told her I was 23, her mouth gaped open in shock. She finds it hard to believe that her father and I lived in a world where we did not have hand-held devices, video chatting or digital cameras, just to name a few.

But those 21 from Montoursville lived in a world such as I described.

They didn't have phones to text messages on; instead, a text message looked more like this:

This was an origami-folded text message, 6th grade, 1991.

Bored in 8th grade study hall.

Passed back & forth in 11th grade cultures; the song lyric Monica tried to figure out?
"I Wish" by Skee-Lo: "I wish I had a six-four Impala!"

A birthday card featured the popular cartoon characters of the day...

And computer graphic technology looked like this (and probably took a half-hour to print!)...

These were the "selfies" of the time...

Kim--6th thru 11th grade

Monica--4th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 10th & 11th grades

Jess--10th grade

And thank you notes were never in short supply...

This would've been the "writing on the facebook wall" of the day...

Looking through these pictures, notes and cards brings so much to the forefront of my mind. I can hear their voices when I read those messages. Nineteen years have not faded what I remember about them; if anything, time has made that stronger. Those memories are a reminder of what life was like when they were here.

There is still sadness because of what happened on the night of July 17, 1996. But going back to that morning... they were happy, they were thriving, and they were headed on an amazing journey. For that moment in time, in the world they knew, life was good.  

Tales of Potty-Training Woe

There is nothing quite like the adventure of potty-training child #3 to test your patience, increase your laundry duties, and humble you. I would've thought I'd be a pro at this by now, able to dispense advice to other moms in the trenches of potty-traning their first.

Wrong-o!

I thought she #3 would be the easiest since she has two big sisters she can observe, is uber-verbal, and to be perfectly honest, because I am tired of buying diapers. Since numero uno was born, there has been a total of 16 months of being diaper-free. I have now officially been a mother for 112 months. I never wanted to have more than one kid in diapers at a time, and somehow, that all worked out in my favor. But as I sit here and add the numbers up, perhaps it would've been better that way, because this diaper phase wouldn't be so long and drawn out.

I anxiously awaited the moment that Jacey turned two, because then she could get on that potty, and we could be on our way to being a diaper-free home! Oh, silly me. Two-and-a-half came, the age at which her sisters showed the signs of being ready to potty train, and I got excited again. Once again, a fool I was. However, once we decided to take a vacation which involved driving to S. Carolina and then Disney World, we figured it would be in our best interest to not have a freshly potty-trained kid who would make that drive even longer. When vacation ended and her third birthday a month away, we decided to buckle down and get this kid in underwear permanently!

This Saturday was her first full-fledged day in underwear, and besides a couple minor accidents, it was a great potty-training day!

Yesterday, a lot more accidents, a lot more laundry, but it's just the beginning.

Today, as we both were at work, my mother-in-law had a great first two hours, and then it went downhill from there. Several pairs of underwear and two bottoms later... then once we got home, she still managed to pee in her closet. Sigh. But the bright side to that tale of potty-training woe is that we have hardwood floors. At the rate she's going, they are all going to be getting a thorough cleaning in the next few days... or weeks.

But I can see the light at the end of this diaper tunnel!

I Have to Feed You Too?

Apparently, when you have children, they need to eat.

Let me rephrase that. They need to eat you out of house and home. After all, they're not paying for the groceries, and the food is just there, so they must do their job and eat it. Then you have to go to the grocery store for the fifth time this week, and the vicious cycle starts all over again.

Mostly, the ravishing appetites come from the snack monster: "Can I have a snack?" (asked by Kelsey just this morning, five minutes after breakfast), "Is it time for a bedtime snack?" or the ever-irritating, "I'm hunnngrrryyy!" When these questions are met with a "No, you just had breakfast/lunch/dinner; it's too close to breakfast/lunch/dinner; it's too late," then the whining ensues as if you've purposely withheld food from them all day and they will absolutely keel over at that moment if they can't have a graham cracker/pretzels/piece of candy (which never qualifies as a fulfilling snack, yet they assure me that will be enough to get them through. Ha.).

I know when I was younger, my family coined me as "Heather Hungry". I was a bottomless pit of sorts, a skin and bones, ribs-peeking-through kind of bottomless pit. I'm not sure how my parents managed to keep me fed and satisfied, and I know it got worse in high school. I can remember coming home from school, devouring an apple, a plate of Triscuits with melted cheese, string cheese and a granola bar. I fear for the teenage years in this house, not because I have all girls, but because they will all need to eat. A lot.

I try to make sure they eat their fruits and veggies, so once a grocery trip is made, I'm chock full of fresh fruits and carrot sticks, and so when they are hunnngrrryyy, I can offer those healthy choices. I can feel like a pretty decent mom. And as blueberries are nature's laxative, I can feel pretty spectacular that everyone is regular. After all, consistent pooping makes the mom's world go 'round.

But then you get to days like today. I've just come off working three evenings in a row. The bananas Jake picked up at Walmart two days ago are just a distant memory. Grocery shopping won't happen until later this evening. In search of a fruit to have with lunch, I had a flash of memory: dark chocolate yogurt-covered raisins. Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Only in this house will you hear "Finish your peanut butter and fluff sandwich or you won't get any dark chocolate yogurt-covered raisins!"

Yup. That's how we roll. Just keeping it real.

Countless Ways to Tell the Story...

I don't want to begin this by tritely saying, "It's hard to believe it's been 18 years..."

But it's the plain and simple truth.

From that first moment that I learned about the crash of TWA Flight 800 and the impact it had on my home community of Montoursville, PA, and until this very day, it still seems so surreal. It still seems like yesterday. And yes, it's hard to believe 18 years have passed since that fateful Wednesday evening of July 17, 1996.

In 18 years, I can tell the story a new way every time. Whether it's relaying it verbally or written, random memories can spark at different times, and it can change the way I tell it. It can be about the friends I lost, or what the summer was like prior to that night, or what the school year was like afterwards, or what life has been like in the past 18 years since the tragedy.

Once again, it's a new story this year. Lately, as I've reflected on Flight 800, it's the little details that have surfaced and have once again reminded me how huge an ordeal it really was. To this day, the shock can still hit that I lived through such a terrible event as a teenager, and so much comes flooding back...

It's in the memory of the enormous headline of our local newspaper on July 18 that screamed, "AGONY IN MONTOURSVILLE".

It's the card on one of the many bouquets displayed in our high school lobby that read, "I don't know you, nor do you don't know me. All I can say is, I love you."

It's the young girl who wrote a letter and donated her baby-sitting money to our memorial fund rather than spending it on herself.

It's the drum head signed by Aerosmith that was on display during the school year. (I thought that was pretty cool.)

It's the endless bouquets of flowers, teddy bears and angels that were sent to our school.

It's the letters from families and friends of those affected by the Oklahoma City bombing reaching out to share in our sorrow.

It's the roll of paper hanging throughout the hallway of the lobby where we could write messages to our loved ones. (I used this opportunity to pen yearbook messages that I would not be writing in my friends' books that year.)

It's the night of July 18 when a couple thousand of us gathered in our high school gymnasium while local clergy spoke and tried to give us some peace. The sadness of that night is still palpable to me.

It's the "God's Little Instruction Book for Graduates" that Monica (Weaver)'s parents gave to me for graduation, and the very first quote in the book read: "When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in such a manner that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice." (Anonymous)

It's the days, months and years that have passed, and how people have still remembered Flight 800 when I say I'm from Montoursville.

It's the one-month memorial service when (the former) NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani came and spoke to us, stating, "For the people of New York City, to understand your encounter in some small way, it would be as if in one single time, in one single moment, in one single tragedy, in New York City thirty-five thousand people would need be affected. Every single person, all of us would feel the tragedy. And that's exactly what has happened here in Montoursville." (This haunted me on the morning of 9/11.)

It's the flashes of my own face, friends and classmates that I saw on national news and how it felt like we were all living in a nightmare. 

It's the blue and gold ribbons on everyone's shirts, mailboxes, front doors, flag poles, everywhere. The flags flying at half-mast all over the state of Pennsylvania. It's the "Forever in our Hearts" stickers and buttons that now have taken on a new life as many of our facebook profile photos this time of year.

It's the signs of remembrance in windows of every business in Montoursville, and also many in the outlying communities. (There was no school rivalry at that time!)

It's the endless tears, hugs, phone conversations, seeing our friends' parents so broken-hearted, yet reaching out to comfort us, the funerals and memorial services too numerous to bear...

While I'd not want to relive the days after the tragedy, there was something so beautiful in all of our grief, in all these memories that still stir up emotion, and it's what I remember the most...

The love.

"I don't know how you do it all!"

This is a quote, coming from the mouths of many friends, family and acquaintances during the past year since I have ventured back to school. I'll admit, sometimes I can take it as a compliment that I can give the outward appearance that I can do it all. However, I know the truth, and I must quickly dispel the myth that I am supermom (hence the name of this blog!) and retort with, "I can assure you that I don't do it all WELL."

Yes, we made the decision for me to go back to school to pursue pharmacy school prerequisites. Yes, we knew it wouldn't be easy. But now that I'm a year into it, my only regret is that I didn't start sooner! It's something I thought about over the years but was either scared off by the classes I'd have to take or just by thinking "it's too late for me!" Now that I'm on the other side, I can see that Calculus wasn't nearly as frightening as I expected. Trying to add that to three kids and a husband and a part-time job though, and it's a trial and error situation.

What I've learned in the past year (aside from the academics) is that I don't have the best method figured out how to do all of this, and I kind of suck at time management. (I'm pretty sure Jake can vouch for that fact.) I've managed to make it to work and class on time, but as far as anything else goes, well, any hints would be great! I know I'm not the first mom of three kids to go back to school, but like raising children, there's no manual for this. Some days the kids watch waaaaay more TV so I can get homework done, and other days, I have Jacey pawing at my legs wanting "uppie!" Some days I can manage to keep a neat home, feed the kids and ace a test, and other days, well, I'm a hot mess. Jake has seen my tears (I had no clue that homework could turn on the water works for me), but through it all, he's my number one supporter. "You've got this," he says, even when I don't. And when I am upset about a C on a test, he reminds me, "You passed, right?"

Adding a job to this mix doesn't make it any easier. At this point though, I am more part-time than I've ever been, so I'm home more than I've ever been, and once I received my first tuition reimbursement check, it made it all worth it.

I won't lie and say it can't get lonely at times. Sure, I've connected with some of my classmates (which reminds me how I old I am; most of them were barely in preschool by the time I graduated high school!), and I've had some great professors who've been understanding to my life situation (telling them you have three kids and a job lets them know you're not fooling around and you will actually have legit reasons should you ever miss a class or test), but doing this sets me apart from my friends. There are times when I'm invited somewhere and can't go because of work or school, but there are also times that I'm home and I'll find out about something I didn't get invited to do. Or I've heard, "I forget that you're home more!" Let me say that it's always better to invite than assume. Sometimes I just need a social break!

Along with Jake, I have had an incredible support system. My parents, my in-laws, friends who've had Kelsey over to play while Jacey naps so I can study, those who have helped me study, and those who've prayed for my sanity... all you have done for us has been a huge blessing!

Through it all, I'm ready to continue tackling these pre-reqs. I have a timeline of what courses to complete when and when I want to apply to pharmacy school. However, I'm a realist. I have a husband, three kids and an older home that still needs some TLC. I know that I may not get there when I want, but it will be so worth it when I get there.