Live Like a Warrior

Preface

This is my story. This day four years ago my innocence was stolen, my heart was shattered into more pieces than I can explain and my perspective on life had changed.

Four years ago my friends and family were living a nightmare that we never would have thought would have happened in our home.

But sitting here today, we reflect, we embrace our loved ones, and we recall what it means to be strong. I had always thought of a person to have emotional and mental perseverance was that they did not shed a tear that they did not show emotion. I was wrong. Strength is not hiding weakness but reveling them and allowing your feelings to happen. That day, that week, that year I saw the people in my life that I had always looked up to for strength look at me for tenacity.

Four years ago I wrote my story. I had not intended to share it. I did not think my account was “dramatic” enough. Now I know, it does not matter where I was, but rather who then and whom I have turned into.

Live like a Warrior

“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.”

Aristotle Onassis

12-13-2013

The day that changed my life as well as about 2,200 of my classmates and teachers. The day started like any other Friday. I woke up happy. It was the Friday before finals, and I was ready to finish my projects. I got in my car and drove to pick my friend, Faith, with coffee in hand. I pull into the parking lot and go through my classes that morning. At 10:36, I left the building to go home for lunch, then to go to Thunder Ridge. I take my daily nap at 11:00, waking up just in time to prepare my lunch and get to class.

12:55

 I stopped at the traffic light at Colorado and County Line. I peer down at my phone, only to find that it was ringing from a phone call from my friend, Emmy. I answer, and she asks me where I was, so I told her. Just then, three or four cop cars came flying past me, and I didn't think anything of it. Emmy continues to say that she just saw like 30 cop cars going toward Arapahoe. I was little worried, so I texted Sharron asking what was going on and if she was ok. As I proceeded down Highlands Ranch Parkway, I see my phone light up again. I noticed it was my teacher, which I thought was odd, so I picked up, not knowing that this was the phone call, the words I would never have thought were about my school -- my home. She told me "get here as fast as you can, don't stop, don't turn around." I asked her why? These eight words; eight simple yet painful words “there are two people shot at your school” shock me down to the bones. I tried my hardest to hold back my tears to drive and get there as fast as I could. I walk into the building to see my teacher at the door.

A hug. An arm around my body. Her voice. As she guided me into the office, she told me what she knew. Two people were shot. That’s all we knew. The Principal of Thunder Ridge High School asked me if I was ok. Mrs. Waskey said, “she goes to Arapahoe.” I got hugs that day from strangers that will never know how much they meant to me. As I walked into my classroom, everyone stood up. They gathered around me, all giving me hugs. By this time, the word had spread. My phone was going nuts with texts “are you ok?” I didn’t want to be around people. I could feel their eyes piercing through me. I walked into her office to be alone. Word got around through Thunder Ridge that there was an Arapahoe student here. Counselors walked in that didn’t want to leave me alone. My close friends and I were taken into to the library where there was cell service so I could keep in contact with my family. We all walk into the library, and I put my brave face on. I didn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. This is my school. Arapahoe is an excellent school. This just doesn’t happen. As we stand in the library, we were all huddling around a computer student who didn’t know me said there has been a shooting at Arapahoe. Erin turned to the student and said yeah, we know. As I saw my classmates my teachers being directed out of the building I broke the fake front I put on and cried onto Erin's arms. People around were asking why-why was she so upset this wasn't her school. Erin said this is her school. Strangers hugged and tried there best to comfort me. We go into a private room to protect me. Thunder Ridge wouldn't release to drive myself home, so my mom had to leave from work to come get me. 

3:00

I heard murmurs off who it was. Karl Pierce? I thought while my mom was driving to pick me up, Karl Pierson?  NO! NO, it couldn't be him. NO WAY! Not the kid that sat behind me a sophomore year in world civ kicking my chair. It couldn't be him. He was too happy.  Did he put up a fake smile to get through the days or what? Why him? What happened?

I saw my mom walking towards the door of the private room. I have never wanted my mom's comforting hug and words more than now. As the teacher unlocked the door, I ran into her arms, balling. We hugged probably the most prolonged most emotional hug I have ever had. My friends gathered around my mom and I waiting to embrace the closest mother figure they knew at that moment. They lined up one by one hugging my mom and I. We went to the office because we didn’t know what to do. Should we go over there or go home? Did they know that I was alive and safe? The office told us to go down there. We walk to the car together hand in hand never wanting to let go.

We started nearing closer to the school. News trucks, Flashing red and blue lights lite up the place I have called home for 4 years. Cars parked on the streets parents embracing their children just like my mom and I had done minutes before. We check me in and try to get home a safe place where I knew my dad and my boyfriend were waiting for me.

I ran into the house tears rolling down my face into my daddy's arms. The look on my dad's face I will never forget his baby girl was alive and safe she is home. Then I ran and hugged my boyfriend. With me in his lap rocking and shaking my head in disbelief as we watch the news, that night we watched nothing but the news. I wanted to know everything. The news was my drug I couldn’t turn away.

Saturday

I woke up thinking that the day before was a nightmare. I had to drive by the school. My mom and I got in the car and drove. The endless tears streaming down my face. It happened my school was a crime scene; the yellow tape and crime scene unit in the parking lot. The world just stopped.  I peer down at my phone again a CNN alert came over my phone. Claire Davis, a 17-year-old senior, is in critical condition after being shot at Arapahoe high school. Claire, that beautiful young girl who loved horses, the girl who was quiet yet kind, who sat in the row and a couple seats back from me in American Lit.  She saved lives that day, but now she is lying in a coma. I was helpless. Word spread about Claire. A Facebook event went up to “Pray for Claire." That night I went to a vigil for our fallen warrior. The park was filled with warriors past and present. Hugs from strangers were passed. The most beautiful piece of hope we had seen. The warrior fight song had never been so beautiful, yet so tearful.

Thursday

We had to go had to in where our lives were changed forever. We walk in hand in hand. Warrior strong that's what we were. The love, the looks, the gifts from the teachers and staff. I walked into the room where my best friend since freshmen year huddled for her life. The books were open, the phones were on the desk, the PowerPoint's were on the slide, never moved from 12:33 Friday.  I had never been so happy to see teachers in my life. We were their students we are a family. The two most memorable hugs were those of officer James Englert and Ms. Gerlich, James, the man who stopped Karl in his rage and Gerlich who was everyone's brave face.

Saturday

I was having a great day at work I did the whole rush on my own. I went into the hall to relax for a couple minutes. I take out my phone.  My god mom texted me,

“I am sorry to hear about Claire.”

I knew she was gone. I was in class with a murderer. A murderer knew my name. Why? Why Claire? Why that day? WHY?

I walked back into the kitchen with my brave face on. The hostess asked me if I was ok? the only words I could get out were "she's gone." She opened her arms and embraced me like a sister. She said I am so sorry. My chef walks by and sees my tear stained face and knows what happened.

Go home.

There I was once again running home into my mommy and daddy’s arms.

Senior was supposed to be the best year.

In the following weeks, I have gained a new perspective.

My class, my school was the best we know what it means to be a warrior. It doesn't mean putting your brave face on it means breaking that brave face and crying.

I have gained new friends, and old friends have gotten closer.

I will hug my children a little tighter each day before school.

Those 80 seconds will regain in my mind but those 8 days of hope and those 11 days of grief and strength will remain in my heart.

Every second matter and I will make every tick of the clock matter.

You always hear life is short, but after these events, it rings true.

My senior year was the best. I wouldn’t want to change the people in my life in my class or in my school.

I am proud to be a Warrior!

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