Explosions of rain battered against the thick glass dome of Kyrian. Tryhn closed her eyes and focused on her breath in an attempt to block out the roar and pounding echos of the storm, but she knew it would do no good. No one could block out the deafening shrieks of the Torrent Ring's canyon tops.
As she stood on the dock standing at the ready, she tightened her folded arms against her bone-chilled chest and shifted her weight to her right leg. Her thick ductile jumpsuit stretched across her body and form-fitted around her curves. Dulled to gray and tattered at the seams, the suit told a story of an ugly life stretched taut. It was originally engineered to lock in a comfortable body temperature for the wearer, but this secondhand piece, swiped off the body of a dead migrant, barley managed to keep Tryhn's body heat above hypothermic levels and her soaked feet attested to how well the waterproof mechanism was working.
Tryhn caught a glimpse of her reflection against the polished rose gold bulkhead of her small ship. Her long dark hair was tied up at the top of her head and dozens of braids plaited in varying thicknesses cascaded from the knot and looped back around forming a long eyelet. She would have had a thin build, but her silhouette was thick and toned, the result of her line of work. Tryhn had a dark oval face and she remembered being told her features were striking, but the rain and rock of Torrent kept her face streaked with dirt and solemnity.
She gazed across Kyrian, a small dirty port stealthily hidden on the northeastern edge of the Gaitia. It was populated with criminals, outcast vagabonds, poor migrants, and anyone else who wanted to pass through the Gaitia who might otherwise have been denied entry by the Diab soldiers who controlled the border.
So, I've been watching the movie, "Leap!" a lot lately. My 4-year-old boy loves watching documentaries on the deadliest animals in the world. He'll stare at Nile Crocodiles taking down a cow all day long, or watch a lioness and her pride shred a zebra to pieces. He also likes watching PJ Masks, Octonauts, Digemon fighters, and a show where theses fighters throw exploding monster slugs at each other. But then he also likes "Leap!" and "My Little Pony" and "Sophia the Great" and "Spirit". Shows that a socially restrictive society would call "girl shows". Whatever. The "girl shows" teach friendship, loyalty, and following your dreams so I'm totally cool with it.
Anyway, we've watched "Leap!" probably 6 times in the last 2 weeks. Have you seen it? It's about an orphan who becomes a ballerina? I wanted to love it. I wanted to so badly. But watching the movie hurt my heart. It really did. And it's not just because the storyline is horrible, the script is ridiculous, and the voice acting is forced and unnatural (except for Carly Rae Jeppsen and Kate Mckinnon because I love them. Elle Fanning is pretty good too except for the fact that she sounds like a 40 year old woman...there are other good voice actors, but no amount of voice acting skill can fix a bad script) the real reason the show hurts my heart is because the animation is so freaking amazing! It's gorgeous!! A visual masterpiece. The facial expressions, the creative cinematography, the beautiful dancing. It's brilliant and I was so incredibly disappointed the story didn't match that brilliance. I mean, there are parts of the plot that could have been cool. An injured ballerina, turned cleaner, turned teacher and the scene where Elle Fanning is dancing at the bar (except for there's no build up to that scene and it's more like, what the heck is happening? How did we get to dancing on the table tops?) But the story was mostly disappointing.
Anyway, I was so bothered by the lack of a good story I decided to write my own orphan ballerina story. So here it is: my alternative story to "Leap!"
Story Outline
1880 Paris
Preface
Diana was talented ballerina with a promising career. She came from a wealthy family who funded her ballet training. Diana was vibrant, vivacious, and loved dancing more than anything. Her passion fueled her success and when she was only 18-year-old the company was ready to name her the prima ballerina of Paris’ Grande ballet.
Days before Diana was scheduled to formally accepted the role as Prima ballerina, it became known that she was pregnant out of wedlock, abandoned by the father. The ballet quietly turned her away and informed her family.
When Diana’s family found out about the baby they insisted she terminate the pregnancy and if she refused they would cut off her monetary allowances and disown her. Diana did refuse and her family followed through with their threat and cut all ties. Diana was left on her own. The ballet company had compassion on her and though they would no longer allow her to be seen at the ballet, let alone dance, they did offer her a job as a scullery maid downstairs in the school’s kitchen.
Disgraced, Diana kept to herself and stayed in the shadows, away from the view of her former friends and ballerinas. The head kitchen maid, Alice, a plump older woman who yelled a lot, took Diana under her wing and looked after the girl during her pregnancy. Diana loved her unborn baby and was convinced it would be a little girl. Alice and Diana spent the evenings by the fire envisioning what it would be like to cuddle and spoil their “little pearl.” And when Diana would feel her baby move within her she would happily exclaim, “She’s twirling! A perfect little ballerina even now.”
Little Claire was born on a bright summer morning. Diana wouldn’t let anyone else hold her once Alice and the midwife finally placed the baby girl in her arms. Snuggles, kisses, and lullabies filled the months and years following. Baby Claire learned to walk early at 9 months and she began dancing soon after. Claire and Diana would often laugh and dance together in the kitchen and then Diana would take out a delicate pearl necklace, a remnant of her past life, and drape it over her baby and whisper in her ear, “I love you my beautiful little pearl.”
Although they lived a simple life, Diana was happier than she had ever been. But a dark wave of influenza struck Paris and when Claire was only 3-years-old Diana became afflicted with the condition and died. Alice wept for days holding little Claire against her chest and cried, “Your mother will always love you, little pearl. And you will always be loved by me.”
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After 6-year-old Claire was finished with her chores she would secretly sneak to the back of the ballet’s great stage and hide behind the dusty black curtains to watch the ballerinas. She would often play with the ballerinas and they would teach her the 5 positions. Claire would dance all the time and loved hearing stories about her talented mother. Alice wished she could pay for Diana to go to ballet school, but even if she could miraculously find the money, Alice knew the ballet and public would never accept her because of her illegitimate birth.
An old, smartly dressed women comes to the ballet seeking the daughter of the late Miss Diana Bernard. She was quietly lead to the downstairs kitchen and met with Alice. The older woman introduced herself as Ms Francesca Martin, Diana’s maternal aunt, and Claire’s great aunt. She learned through the grapevine of Diana’s misfortune: the unplanned pregnancy, the loss of her inheritance, and her untimely death. Francesca said that the family was originally told Diana went to live with relatives in the united states and only recently learned that there was a baby. Francesca said she was the black sheep of the family and never feared scandal. She herself was an unmarried, self-made millionaire who never cared one wit about what society made of her. She said she had come to take the young girl and give little claire the life she deserved, the life that had been robbed from her mother. Alice was devastated to see Claire go, but she knew Francesca would give the girl much more than she could ever offer. Seeing how much Alice loved Claire Francesca offered to make Alice head cook at her estate. She was in need of a new cook and lord knows Francesca herself had never been good with children.
Claire loved her new home and learned to love Francesca over time, but she missed the ballet. She showed obvious skill when it came to dancing and when Claire was 9-years-old Alice begged Francesca to send Claire back to the ballet school as a student. Francesca finally agreed and sent Claire off. It was agreed upon that Alice would return to the school as well and work again as a cook in order to watch over Claire, but no one must ever make the connection that Claire is Diana’s illegitimate child or else it would ruin Claire.
No one recognizes Claire from before and she is only known as the niece of Lady Martin. Claire has a hard time convincing people that she’s a good dancer. The other girls had been dancing since they were 5 so Claire has a lot of lost time to make up. One day Alice takes her out to a diner with other Kitchen staff to celebrate her birthday. The diner plays music and people start cheering to see dancers strut their stuff. Most of the dancers are people of lower class dancing lower class dances. Claire gets excited and jumps up onto the makeshift stage and begins dancing. Her dance is a cross between ballet and lower class dancing. People are beside themselves with awe in seeing a 10-year-old do a beautiful, technically difficult, and wonderful rambunctious performance. The director of the ballet happens to be at the diner that night. He recognizes Claire and chastises her and Alice for being out so late, but the next day he has Claire take the lead in practice and it becomes more and more clear to him that Claire has amazing intrinsic talent.
Claire thrives as a ballerina and quickly moves up the ranks. She becomes the prima ballerina at age 16 and is incredible. She is able to perform impossible leaps and dance moves that had never been tried before.People come from all over the world to watch her dance. Some say her incredible ballet acrobatics are a gimmick or sensational to a fault, but most people are enchanted by her passionate and exciting performances.
The former Prima ballerina before Claire was named Evelyn. Evelyn had been the Prima for years until she was injured badly and no longer able to dance. The ballet company refused to pay out Evelyn’s full retirement because the injury happened while she was still in her prime and she was turned out by the heartless businessmen who ran the ballet for profit. Ballet was Evelyn’s livelihood and identity and she became bitter and angry at her situation. She directed her bitterness toward Claire’s success and allowed jealousy to consume her. Evelyn was set on destroying Claire and the ballet school just as she had been destroyed. Evelyn was dismissed without making a fuss, but bided her time until the perfect opportunity presented itself to reap her revenge.
Evelyn learns of Claire’s background and goes to the papers to make public the scandal. Claire is immediately called out as Diana’s illegitimate child and the ballet school is shamed for allowing a person of her sorts to walk the halls of such an established institution. Some people boycott the ballet calling it a house of filth and sin. The ballet is forced to save face by publicly dismissing Claire. Her former friends, colleagues, teachers, and romantic interested separated themselves from her to avoid tarnishing their own reputation. She returns to Francesca’s home disgraced in much the same way her mother had been.
Francesca and Alice comforted Claire, they raged with her, and wept by her side. Alice touched the pearl necklace that hung around Claire’s neck, the necklace from Diana. “You will dance again, little pearl. Your mother passed on her passion for dancing to you. You were dancing and twirling in your mother’s womb before you was born, I swear you went straight from crawling to dancing, and I couldn’t get you away from them ballerina’s when you was supposed to be helping me with supper downstairs as a wee girl. It’s in your blood, little pearl. It’s a part of you.” Claire appreciated their love and began to somewhat recover. But soon attention turned to Francesca who was ill and it was becoming clear that she was going to die (as it happens she will die because of an STD stemming from a very eclectic and active sex life, but that’s really her business, so I’ll keep out of it).
On Francesca’s deathbed she charges Claire, “You must dance again. Do you hear me, girl? You must dance again. I cannot leave this earth without know that you will dance again. Promise me.” Claire was reluctant. Dancing had caused her deep pain and feelings of betrayal. But she promised Francesca.
Claire knew she would be receiving part of Francesca’s inheritance because Francesca had told her as much, but Claire ended up receiving 100% of the inheritance. Francesca was unmarried and childless and trusted Claire with the money. Claire was stunned at the wealth left to her. She knew her great aunt was wealthy, but she didn’t realize how wealthy. Claire could hardly think of what a person would do with so much money.
She was out and about one day and noticed a flower girl walking the streets asking for pennies in exchange for daisies. The girl couldn’t have been more than 6 years old and it reminded Claire of herself when she was young. In a quiet moment while she waited for more people to pass by the little girl began twirling. She twirled with her dress spinning gracefully around her as if she herself was a little flower. Claire touched the pearl necklace around her neck remembering her mother and suddenly knew exactly what she wanted to do with the money
She opened her own ballet company in a different city outside of Paris. It was a dancing studio for less affluent girls and boys, especially those who were considered outcast or the deprived. Each child accepted was given two warm meals a day, taught to read and write, and then taught ballet. She devoted her life to the school and dedicated it to her mother, Diana.
I awoke at 5:30 AM and my parents were almost finished loading our white 1990's van with the blue dolphin stickers on the side. I strapped on my bra and pulled on my Doc Marten look-alike sandals. Brushed my hair and examined myself in my long mirror. I frowned at my small chest. How did all the other girls my age have way bigger boobs than me? I grabbed a blanket and pillows and walked out to the van. I watched my dad gently lift and carry out Caleb who was snuggly dressed in an overstuffed baby coat.
I hopped in through the van's side door and decided I wanted to sit next to a window so I could sleep. I made my way to the back corner seat. Kirsten's seat. Kirsten often reminded us it was her seat and no one else could sit there. To this day I don't know why Kirsten didn't fight me for her seat. If there was one person I fought with more than my mom, it was my sister, Kirsten.
I usually sat next to Caleb in the middle bench and Kirsten sat in the back corner, but maybe she was too sleepy to protest. Kirsten climbed in next to me, followed by Clint who sat next to her. Andre was the last kid in, and he sat next to Caleb on the middle bench. Mom and dad were still outside scurrying around picking up last minute items. My dad slid shut the side door and climbed into the passenger seat and my mom climbed into the driver's seat. The car doors slammed and the engine ignited. I looked at the green neon analog clock on the front dashboard. 6:01 AM. We were leaving on time. A miracle.
"Dad, did you bring the cd's?" Kirsten asked. "Yep, they're up here with Alyse's boombox. We'll turn it on once we reach the freeway."
"I want some juice!" said Andre. My dad unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted behind him to pull a juice bottle out from the cooler. "Maybe I can weach it," Andre offered and he unbuckled his seatbelt to pull out the juice. My dad returned to his seat and re-buckled.
"Andre's not wearing his seatbelt!" Clint tattled.
Dad turned around, "Andre, buckle up." Andre grudgingly obeyed.
"Nu uh!" Kirsten yelled. Kirsten and I were at in again. Arguing about something meaningless. Kirsten had a way of pushing my buttons and I would always stubbornly retaliate. "You guys, Kirsten and Alyse!” my mom groaned, “Please stop fighting. Are you capable of that?"
It had only been about 3 minutes since we pulled out of the driveway. This was going to be a long trip. I leaned my head against my pillow next to the window and closed my eyes. The car fell silent except for my parents in the front seat quietly discussing the best route to the freeway.
"But I can go this way, right? It will take me there?" My mom asked.
"I think so, but I always go the other way. We can try it, though," Dad replied
We had been driving only a few minutes when my mom turned down a dark country road in the middle of a wide field. The van pulled to a stop. The pause was quiet, but it felt queer. And suddenly my mom gunned the engine and the car jerked forward.
And then she screamed.
My blood drained, my stomach pitted, and my gut wrenched in a sickening craze as my mother's shriek ripped through my ear drums, rattling my brain. But the scream was instantly silenced.
A crashing bang exploded against the van and threw my body against my sister and then wrenched me back into a shattering window. Ripping metal, crashing glass, screeching brakes rang through my skull as my pillow was sucked out the window. I dug my fingernails into the cushion of the middle bench as it crushed into my legs while my body flung right and left in surges of psychotic centripical force.
And the screaming. Hundreds of thousands of screams shrieked through the twisting metal and breaking glass.
With a final crashing blow my body slammed against the seat in front of me knocking the air from my chest and then violently whipped me back against the back of my bench. And then nothing.
A deafening silence pounded against my temples.
But it wasn’t silent. I could still hear something. It was soft at first as if it were being pulled out of dream. But it got louder. And louder.
Screams.
Screaming. And shrieking. It hadn’t stopped. And it wouldn’t stop. The screaming wouldn’t stop.
“Alyse” I could barely hear someone calling my name. It sounded as if they were calling from somewhere in the distance, but suddenly it got louder. And then I realized it was Kirsten sitting right next to me.
“Alyse!”
“Alyse! Stop screaming!”
Kirsten’s tart and merciless words cut through the noise.
“Stop screaming!”
I swallowed hard and clenched my teeth until the shrieks retreated back into my throat. My chest heaved in disjointed rhythm.
And then I felt the burning.
My right leg was burning. Shocks of heat raced up and down my calf. My knee was pinned against the seat in front of me. I looked down and saw my thigh. My eyes widened in fear. It didn’t looked like a thigh. It was twisted and contorted and shaped like an “S”.
I stared at my leg and then slowly attempted to lift it. And I did lift it. Or at least part of it. I was able to slightly lift up the top half of my broken femur while the bottom half laid lifeless on my seat, pinned against the chair in front of me. My stomach turned in sickening terror and I let my bone fall back to the seat.
Andre, the 5-yr-old, screamed in front of me and Kirsten. I looked up.
“My legs! My legs! Help! My legs!”
The driver’s side, my mom’s side, had been smashed in causing a deep concave into the belly of the van. Her seat was mashed right into the middle. Right on top of Andre’s legs.
“It’s okay Andre! It’s okay!” I yelled.
I looked at the driver’s seat and saw my mom. Her head hung by her neck and rested limp against the back of the seat.
“Mom!” But I didn’t expect a response. She must have been knocked out.
“Dad! Dad!” I looked over to the passenger side and I saw my dad moving. The movements were rigid, disjointed. He looked left and then right. Down, then up. His arms moved from side to side. The movements didn’t make sense. But I didn’t care. He was moving. He was okay.
“Dad! Dad!” He didn’t answer. He must be in a daze.
An accident. We were in an accident. I looked around to see what hit us. Another car, maybe another van?
I looked out the front window and saw gravel and dirt. Nothing in front. I looked out my window and only saw trees. Then I twisted around as my leg’s burning and pulsing intensified. I strained to look behind me and then I let out a soft defeated sigh. An 18-wheeler semi was crushed into the trees behind me. We were hit by a semi.
A man came running up to my window and looked in through the shattered glass. “Everyone okay in here?”
We looked at him without emotion and I mumbled something about my leg as Andre continued to scream.
“Help is coming. Can you hear that? Can you hear those sirens?”
I listened and heard soft sirens ringing in the distance.
“Those sirens are for you. They are coming for you. Hang in there.”
Within seconds a crowd of first responders were flocking around the van.
“This one’s got no pulse!” A man yelled as he took his hands off my mom’s neck.
A paramedic ran up to the car seat strapped in the seat right in front of me holding my baby brother, Caleb. The paramedic reached through the broken glass and placed their finger under Caleb’s nose to feel for a breath. “This one needs help!” They yelled and they stepped away.
Kirsten gasped, “Caleb!” She reached across me and placed her finger under his nose. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully. But he wasn’t sleeping before we were hit. He had been awake. And now he had three small dots of blood on his forehead. Kirsten sighed with relief. “He’s breathing!” I reached in front of me and placed my finger under his nose and with relief I felt the soft warmth of his breath. He was okay. Just sleeping. He must have fallen asleep.
The paramedic came back and reached through the glass, unbuckled Caleb, and took him out through the side window.
Suddenly I heard screeching metal and the sliding door of the van jammed and then was forced open. “Can any of you walk out?” a police officer asked through the door. Kirsten stood up next to me and the officer reached out for her hand and guided her around the crushed seats out the sliding door.
As Kirsten made her way out she revealed Clint who had been sitting to her left. Something was wrong with Clint. He was twisting and writhing in his seat. He slid down the seat with foam and spit falling out his mouth. Paramedics reached in and tried to place a neck brace.
“Don’t touch my legs!” Andre screamed.
I looked up and saw paramedics checking Andre and assessing his injuries.
“It’s okay Andre! It’s okay!” I called out, not able to think of anything else to say.
I looked to the left and Clint was gone. The officers must have taken him.
“Sir!” I looked up and officers were surrounding my dad.
“Sir! SIR!” the officers yelled, trying to get my dad’s attention, but he wouldn’t respond.
“Dad!”I yelled out, “Dad!” Why wouldn’t he respond?
“What’s your name?” A paramedic came up to me.
I looked up. “Uh...Alyse.”
“Alyse, I’m going to place a neck brace around you, okay?”
“...Okay.” And the white stuffed brace was wrapped against my neck.
“How old are you?”
“14”
“How long have you had braces?”
“Uh...since I was...2 years, I think.” Why did they care about my braces? Another paramedic came through the back window to my side.
“What’s your name?”
“Alyse.”
“Are you in pain, Alyse?”
I felt the burning sensation up and down my calf. “My leg hurts” The paramedic looked down at my twisted thigh.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No”
But then I realized my left wrist was hurting. “My wrist.”
“Alyse, we’re going to get you out of here, okay?”
“Okay.”
“But we have to rip parts of the van to get to you out, okay? We’re going to place a blanket over your head to protect you from glass and metal.”
“Okay.”
A warm blanket was placed on top of me and my body rested against the back of the seat. Suddenly the roar of an engine fire up. Sawing, screeching metal, ripping plastic, shattering glass filled my ears. My ears hurt.
“Stop that noise!” Andre yelled. “Stop that noise!”
My eyes began to droop in exhaustion, but then I jerked awake in excruciating pain when the chair in front of me shifted. My leg went from burning, to blood rushing, to sharp shocks of pain, back to burning.
But I didn’t cry, I didn’t scream. I was somewhere else. I was deep inside my mind and everything was happening on the surface. I leaned my head to the side of the van, closed my eyes, and listened to the violent roar of an engine.
And Andre screaming. He was screaming and begging for help.
“My leg hurts!” he cried.
“Okay, we’re going to help you.” The firefighters and paramedics were trying to comfort Andre. “What’s your name?”
“Andre-” And then he screamed out in pain as my mom’s chair, pinned against his legs, shifted. “Stop that noise!” He cried. “Stop it.”
It was pretty much the most heartbreaking thing to listen to, but I was too tired to call out to him. I was so tired.
“Don’t fall asleep.” A first responder poked his head under the blanket to check on me.
“I want to go to sleep”
“We need you to stay awake,” said a paramedic to the side of me. “How long have you had braces?”
The braces question again. Stop asking me about my braces.
“2 years.”
As Andre and I waited for the van to be ripped apart in order to free our crushed legs, Kirsten, Clint, and Caleb were loaded into an ambulance to be rushed to McKinney’s local hospital.
“How about you and your brother sit in the front bench with the driver,” a paramedic suggested to Kirsten. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
Kirsten looked around a caught a glance at the anxious medical staff loading Caleb into the back of the ambulance. She stepped into the front seat of the ambulance with Clint knowing that comfort was not the reason they were in the front seat. She could tell the adults around her worried Caleb might die on his way to the hospital.
“No, please, no!” Andre’s scream roared through the noise of the engine. “Stop that noise!”
And then it stopped.
The roaring engine stopped. How long had it been? An hour? Longer? I couldn’t keep track. My leg was burning. I was so tired.
“Okay, we’ve got you.” an officer explained to Andre.
“We’ve got you.” “We’re going to help you.” A chorus of a half dozen adults around said trying to reassure and prepare Andre for what was to come.
“We’re going to lift this chair off of you so we can get you to the hospital.”
“No! Don’t take it off! Please, please!” Andre cried.
They lifted the blanket off of my head and I looked around. They had taken my mom and dad out of the car. Andre and I were the only ones left.
“No, no!” Andre cried.
“One! Two! Three!” Firefighters and officers lifted my mom’s chair off of Andre’s legs and he screamed in horror. “Please stop!”
The paramedics quickly secured Andre to a stretcher and carefully straightened laid out his legs. I watched them carry Andre out of my view. He left me. And then I was all by myself. The last one in the car. I stared blankly in front of me. Staring at the mangled, twisted metal heap that had been my family’s van. Now it was empty. And I was alone.
“Alyse?” I looked up at a paramedic.
“Your sister, your brother, and your baby brother were taken to the hospital” They explained. “We’ve got your dad and your brother in the helicopter.” They conveniently left out any information about my mom. But kids aren’t stupid.
A helicopter? When did a helicopter arrive? How did I not hear it?
The rest is kind of a blur. The roar of the helicopter. The growing pain in my leg and my severe discomfort. Emergency staff racing my stretcher down a hallway like I was in a movie. My clothes cut off from my body as I lay naked and exposed in a room of a dozen people assessing my injuries. Someone asking me the name of my church ward. A warm blanket being laid on top of me. People updating me on where everyone in my family had been taken. Everyone, that is, except for my mom.
And then a kind man came it and took x-rays of my body. It was probably the most painful experience of my life. Then I laid still as a conveyor pulled me through a big machine to take pictures of my brain and neck.
And then they said I was going to go to surgery. They showed me a teddy bear they said was from Heather’s family. A great aunt and uncle whom I didn’t know showed up and held my hand. And then it went dark. When I awoke I was wheeled to a hospital bed next to Andre. It really is a blur. Family members and church members started visiting the room. Some of them with smiles in an attempt to comfort me, some of them with somber expressions not knowing what to say. The day was long and there was lots of waiting. And I felt nothing. I wasn't sad, I wasn't happy. I just existed as I watched people move around me. Finally in the evening a large group of my family members gathered around me in my hospital room. They showed somber faces and some of them had been crying. My Grandma Johnson stood in the middle of them. "Alyse," she started. "Alyse. I have something to tell you." I knew what was coming. My mom was dead. I knew she was dead. "Your mom is dead. And your dad," she paused. "Your dad probably won't make it." I stared at my Grandma. I thought my dad would live. He had been moving. He went into surgery the same time as me. I closed my eyes and turned my head. I just wanted to go to sleep. I wanted to sleep and disappear. *** So there it is. The horrible story in all it's epic sadness. And though this story marks the end of my parents' lives, it doesn't mark the end of their legacy. After their death, there are stories of fire fighters, police officers, nurses, medical staff, and doctors who did everything in their power to save us and heal us. My aunts, uncles, and grandparents flew to our rescue and arranged for us to live with a kind uncle, aunt, and their 6 kids. Church members and neighbors brought us food, clothing, beds, and generously donated money. In the deep pit of sorrow we were lifted up, supported, and loved. The hours, days, weeks, and years of support we've received after our tragedy is extraordinary in the truest sense. For all those who have loved me and my younger siblings, for all those who knew my parents and were touched by their lasting influence, Nancy and Keith and their legacy will live forever in all of us. **** "You're Gonna Live Forever In Me" John Mayer:
