Smart, cute, friendly, respected, hard-working, with a personal sense of style: Jenna was one of those students you just knew was going places. She could have been a model or a physicist. She was the student you meant when you said “the future of America.” I gave her a hug at high school graduation, and she went off to college.
When the news of her death came through Facebook, I wandered in the back yard, mourning. I found this swallowtail. It was late in the summer, and its wings were battered. It carried on, flawed as it was, finding food, moving gracefully, offering beauty. For a moment, it represented Jenna, gone to a different form.
The funeral was held at a small, conservative church where the preacher focused more on the strength of her family than on the status of her immortal soul, suggesting what they believed about suicide. They had music and prayer but no casket.
Facebook reminds me every August.
I was her high school English teacher for two semesters; I didn’t know her well. But she represented hope for the future, and every year, I remember the loss of that hope.
To my former students: all of you represent hope. Flawed but not quitting. Broken but not giving up. You ARE the hope. Hang on to that.
We started for Hopkinsville, KY, (billed as Eclipse City) before sunrise on August 21. As we got off the interstate, there were two signs. One said “Hopkinsville,” and the arrow pointed right. The other said “Lake Barkley,” arrow pointing left. “I’ve always wanted to see Lake Barkley,” my sister Karen said; and since she was driving, we turned left. She didn’t know how far it was; she didn’t know how crowded it would be. She wanted to try it, and we did.
Sign near Hopkinsville, KY
We arrived in good time. We set up our canopy by the beach and marveled at our good fortune. The park was uncrowded; the children, well behaved. Friendly passersby would chat briefly. Amateur astronomers compared notes on their setups. One announced “First contact!” and everyone scrambled for their eclipse glasses.
Solar Eclipse 2017, Lake Barkley, KY
There was a collective “Awwwww!” when totality ended. While I recognize that watching the eclipse on TV was safer, I have to say that seeing one in person is best. The day was as close to perfect as a day can be.
Until we started home.
Police directed traffic away from Hopkinsville, nixing our plans for a post-eclipse sandwich. Everyone went north until traffic came to a standstill, and then we started looking for secondary roads. Eventually we found our way to the Western Kentucky Parkway. Traffic was stop and go until Elizabethtown, where the highway narrowed from 2 lanes to 1 due to road construction. (WHAT was the Kentucky highway department thinking?!) It took us 1 1/2 hours to go 4 miles.
Karen was still driving. She looked at the app on her phone that had some roads in red and some roads in green. She started flipping through the onboard navigation. “Look,” she said, “we can take this street and go here, go here, go here, and get back on the interstate where it’s green.”
“Yeah, uh-huh …” I said uncertainly. It was 1:30 in the morning, and my confidence was ebbing.
“Let’s do this,” she said. She eased the car onto the shoulder, and we got to the exit. We saw a few blocks of scenic Elizabethtown, stopped for gas and snacks at an all-night BP, and found the interstate, post-construction. We got home just before sunrise.
She didn’t know how far it would be. She didn’t know if the streets were safe. She wanted something better, and she made it happen.
I would have stayed on the interstate, trusting in what I knew. I wouldn’t have driven out onto the shoulder without being able to see the exit ramp ahead. I probably would have pulled into a Walmart parking lot to sleep for a while around 3 a.m. – probably still stuck in Elizabethtown traffic. I would definitely have sent a scathing letter to the head of the Kentucky Highway Department.
But my sister said, “Let’s try it,” and she made it happen.
The best part of an eclipse is when you can see something you can’t usually see. In this case, I saw my sister.
I was driving on a county road when I came up behind a regular-sized pickup truck hauling a flat trailer. It was moving slowly. I muttered impatiently, “Who’s driving this thing, anyway?” I tried to get a glimpse of the driver, and THERE WAS NO ONE THERE!
After a moment’s shock, I figured the driver must be someone very short. Perhaps an elderly farmer? Perhaps a young teen who shouldn’t be driving legally but who might be helping out in a pinch? I meditated on how many bad drivers there are on the roads these days as I craned my neck to get a glimpse. No one. There was no one at the steering wheel.
The road widened a bit, and I decided to pass. And that’s when I saw it: there was no one at the wheel because the truck wasn’t hauling a flat trailer – it was ON a flat trailer being hauled by a guy in a much larger pickup. From my car in the back, I couldn’t see the whole picture.
I thought I knew what was going on, but I didn’t. That has also been true in situations more important than slow-moving traffic on a county road. Maybe someday I’ll learn how much I don’t know. Until then, I remain dependent on forgiveness and grace.
