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.