My son Ben just lost one of his best friends, Becky.

Becky was 16, full of life, your typical American teenager.  Just last month, Becky was in my living room with her Dad, excited to be off to Europe on a school trip, and this Friday is the junior prom. Becky and her friend Brittany paired with my son and his best friend Ryan. There were no romances here, just four very good friends, looking forward to a splendid evening. Life was good.

My son for the last month would say, “Mom, I keep seeing 911. I look at the clock at 911 every day, just like that! It’s driving me crazy! What does it mean?”

Friday night, May 16th, Becky left her father’s house with her friend Nate. He forgot his cell phone. He only lived a bit away. They jumped into the car, off to his house on a wet, drizzly evening. “We’ll be right back,” she told her father.

My husband drove Ben to his friend Sean’s on Friday, May 16th, a wet and drizzly evening. Not knowing why, he said, “Ben, be careful. You never know. You never know what can happen.” He told me later, “I don’t know why I said that.”

Becky and Nate hydroplaned into a tree. Neither was wearing a seat belt. I don’t know all the details of the accident, but feel she may have been thrown from the car. She died instantly. Nate broke his back, has swelling of the brain, not sure if he’ll make it. The EMT’s found the cell phones. That’s how they notified Becky’s father, as he sat wondering, Where is she? I thought she said she’d be right back.

“Becky’s dead,” my son Ben told me the next morning. He told me later, “I understand 911 now.”

Becky died on the anniversary of her mother’s death.

Prayers to Becky.
Prayers to Nate.
Prayers to their families.
Prayers to all who loved them.

 The children here weep.