Slowing Down

In the very latest part of August, my friend's daughter was struck in a crosswalk by a car. She was fifteen years old and on her way to a friend's house in the light of 7pm. Her mother was in an airplane with her sister on the way to college. They were greeted by police at the gate. Her father and stepmother were summoned at their home: your child has been in a terrible accident.

Allie died on one of our Small Town streets or maybe in a helicopter on the way to the hospital. Doesn't matter. She died. She was beautiful and on her way to Varsity soccer and 10th grade. She was fifteen.

The driver who hit Allie was an 18 year old boy from a neighboring town with an awful driving record and awesome sports stats. No charges have been filed.

Since then, the Small Town has been a fury of goodness (within days two great women had bumper stickers printed-- SLOW DOWN FOR ALLIE) and also inane destruction (the Small Town newspaper's comment site blew-up with vitriol and blame and hurt).

When Allie's dad asked me to write something for the Small Town paper, I knew what he was after: he is a dad who wants justice for his daughter. His anger is more than palpable -- it comes through his typically friendly smile. I hear it in his voice. I see how his eyes can't wink or twinkle. He will, her mother will never be the same, but -- I couldn't do what he wanted.

I can't fix anything for him.

I wrote for him, like he asked me to do, but I wrote what only my heart could tell -- and it's probably not what he wanted.

I hope it resonates with him and maybe you too:

It’s a funny thing to feel so happy and so sad for a small town. While we celebrate the historical and well deserved win by our hometown football team, we can’t forget the young woman who did not attend the rallies or the games.

“SLOW DOWN” the bumper stickers say.

It’s an oval reminder of Allie’s families’ loss and ours too.

I saw the sticker twice as I maneuvered my way through traffic on the Pike over Thanksgiving. I wondered if it mattered as much to the other drivers on that speedy road as it did to me.

“Slow down,” I say to myself every time I see it in our small town. Slow down, I think, and then I wonder: am I really… slowing down?

Things speed up this time of year. We rush and hurry and stress out. We fill our calendars or worry that our calendars aren’t filled enough. We hustle catalogs in and out of the house and stack their torn pages on tables that are already thigh-high with school flyers. We wrestle tangled lights and swear -- we swear to wind them up better next time.

Mostly, we charge through three sweet weeks we will never have again.

In our effort to please and make joyous, we run a race this time of year, and sadly, it’s a race too many of us run all year long.

In an effort to “help” our kids. we run them from activity to practice to tutoring to play dates. Our mothers? Most of them just shoved us outdoors. My mother-in-law locked the doors until dinner was served. I adore her.

Some of us? Most of us?

All we do is run. And run and run.

To what? From what?

SLOW DOWN.

What a gift we have been given!

Not only should we practice safe and careful measures in our daily lives behind the wheel (and expect the same of others) (hang up that stupid phone!), but each time we see that sticker, we should remember all the tiny moments we take for granted – on the way to something else.

All happy children will tell you: it was never the things under the tree, but the time spent around it.

Need proof? Ask Allie’s family.