God Is Crying on Kirkwood
It's been two weeks since the lives of so many, too many, changed forever. I've held off writing anything about the Kirkwood shootings
because, even as a journalist, I've found it difficult to find the words to replace the tears. Like most Kirkwoodians, I am deeply saddened and numb. I have lived in Kirkwood on and off since 1986.
Sure, it's the tree lined streets, the outstanding school district, and the farmer's market. But, above all, it's the people.
There is something comforting about neighbors that are truly there for you during times of crisis. A stranger could easily stop you in the local family market, look you in the eye, ask how you're doing, and mean it.
The day after the tragedy a noon memorial service was held at a downtown Kirkwood church. An overflow crowd was standing shoulder to shoulder, grieving together. As we began to pray and sing there were no more hymnals. A stranger moved closer, reaching out to share his hymnal. I obviously didn't know his name but we shared a bond. We were both crying and relying on the words of that hymn to somehow lift us. I know it may seem like a simple gesture, but a gesture I needed at that moment. It was a gesture indicative of Kirkwood.
My 14 year old son has yet to talk about the shootings. He'll either shake his head or say, "Not now, Mom."
I think he has seen me cry too much and doesn't know how to respond. He has asked about Mayor Mike Swoboda. Like most youngsters in Kirkwood, he considers the Mayor a buddy. I knew he would mention something eventually.
The day after the shootings, while I waited to interview City Attorney John Hessel, a light rain began to fall over Kirkwood. At the same time across town, my husband was picking my son up from school. What he said that day will stay with me forever. My son told his father, "God is crying on Kirkwood"
February 1st LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW, LET IT SNOW
An air of anticipation filled our house Thursday, into the wee morning hours. For my son, it felt a lot like waiting for the opening of his gifts on Christmas morning.
Our meteorologists had been warning us for a few days. A big storm was coming. Sure enough, as soon as we began posting school closings on the air and on ksdk.com, I heard from my 14-year old every 20 minutes.
"Do you have good news for me? Are we closed yet?"
He had tried to get to sleep, but the uncertainty was wearing on him. ( Besides, he was busy, calling me all night!) Our cancellation list at work was building,but still no closing for his district.
Later, when I got home and kissed his cheek, as I do each and every night, he jumped up, hoping I was delivering the news he longed for. Nope, no such luck. Still, no snow day.
Then I heard a clanging noise under his pillow.
"Don't touch those!" my son yelled. He had placed about a half dozen ice tea spoons under his pillow. What was going on? Apparently one of my best friends told him, if you put spoons under your pillow and wore your boxers backwards, you would have a snow day!
What? Have you ever heard of such a thing?
As it turns out, my friend heard it from our pastor. I know he has connections, but spoons under your pillow? After monitoring the school closings every two hours, the call came to our house around 5:30a.m. School was officially closed. A glorious three day weekend for my son.
It was a sleepless night but well worth it for my little guy who still has some of those spoons under his pillow.
Too bad rain's in the forecast!!
