This past Saturday, I attended a funeral for a twenty-year old. As you may know, Grace Sinfield, the daughter of Bill Sinfield (Sandia Prep’s head of school), was killed by a drunk driver who ran a red light early on the Sunday morning of Thanksgiving weekend. Although I never met Grace, I do know Bill through school meetings, attending conferences together, and just sitting down for a cup of tea and getting acquainted when he moved to town this past summer. Consequently, I wanted to be there to support him, his family, and the Sandia Prep community during their time of mourning and loss. From all accounts, Grace was an exceptional young woman, as were the two young men, with whom she was traveling, who were also killed that fateful day.
The sudden death of three young people, who were doing nothing more than driving home after an evening with family, defies explanation and destabilizes all of us. At some level, we are cognizant that accidents happen, and we know that in recent rankings, New Mexico has the highest alcohol-related death rate in the United States. We also realize, though, that we cannot keep our children locked in their rooms and enclosed in a bubble, so we push the thoughts of anything bad happening to them to the back of our minds and hope and pray that they will be all right.
No matter how much I try, I will never shake the fear from the phone call I received three years ago to inform me that our son was in an accident directly in front of our school on Coors Boulevard. I was attending the state track and field tournament when my phone vibrated with calls and texts, and in those moments, I experienced a sense of both panic and helplessness. He and a friend in the tech crew were setting up and working at an event that Friday evening, and they had gone to Keva Juice to pick up drinks for the crew. It was unfathomable that a seemingly innocuous event like this could have altered the lives of our families irrevocably.
As our son and his friend turned left onto Mirandela, they didn’t see the pickup truck barreling down in the third lane; apparently neither did the drivers in the closer two lanes of traffic who waved them on, signaling it was clear to turn. Their car was totaled, and the police officer on the scene said to another adult, “I don’t know how those two kids are still alive.” Following that accident, our son made a plea at upper school morning meeting to his fellow students that if they are coming to Bosque by driving south on Coors, they should either turn left at Montano or Learning Road, but to please avoid the intersection at Mirandela. He was shaken up, but within a couple of weeks, he and his friends were driving somewhere else to grab a bite to eat as if the accident had never taken place; this is how we shield ourselves and move on rather than allowing the paralysis of what may happen to seep in and render us helpless.
The fear I experienced that day returned as if it were yesterday when I heard about the death of Grace Sinfield—the child of someone I knew—and many parents with whom I have spoken have expressed a similar sentiment. When a tragedy like this occurs, it hits us at our most vulnerable point—the realization that at times we have neither the power over, nor a say about, the things that can happen to our children. In 1993, New York Times columnist Anna Quindlen concluded a column on the Long Island Railway shooting by saying, “It seems as though it could have happened anytime, anywhere, to anyone. That is why it is so terrifying.” We could say the same thing about this drunk-driving accident that ended the lives of three young people who were so full of hope and promise.
So, what do we do? On a practical level, I spoke at both morning meetings last week about never driving under the influence. Beyond that, I asked students to never run a red light, and if they are sitting at a light that has turned from red to green, to wait and look both ways for any cars that may speed through the light before they move into the intersection.
At last week’s funeral, Grace’s aunt, speaking on behalf of Bill and his wife Brenda, asked us all to love our children and to tell them so, every time we leave each other’s company. Many years ago, a friend and colleague lost her five-year old son after a long illness; I asked her later if she had any words of wisdom to impart to other parents because of what she had experienced. She said she had no patience for parents who don’t realize everyday that their children are a gift and they are so fortunate to still have them. I try to remind myself as part of my daily morning ritual how lucky I am and to express my gratitude; but truth be told, I am not always successful, as planning for the day dominates my thinking.
So, maybe one of the lessons we can take from these senseless tragedies is for the rest of us to be profoundly appreciative every day for our children and to let them know in whatever way we can. We can never protect our children from everything that could harm them, but we can make sure they realize how deeply we care for them. That much is still within our control.
