The Worst Best Thanksgiving

It was the worst best Thanksgiving I've ever had. It started before Thanksgiving of 1985, at least a year before in fact. My sister had long been demonstrating her prowess as a distance runner in both cross country and track and field. Coaches were calling, sending letters, and asking for her to come and visit her campus. She visited a few and made an official visit to Iowa State when I was a 7th grader. I remember visiting it with her and falling in love with the campus. I loved Greek Row, I loved the big tower in the middle of campus, and I loved the coach - Ron Renko. He made a big impression on our family, including me, a glasses wearing, moppy haired, chubby little 7th grader. I think at this time, I probably weighed more or equal to my senior sister.

When we visited ISU, it was Easter. I remember stopping at Hardee's on the way and getting a stuffed pink rabbit, one of those special "with purchase" type of deals. I kept that rabbit for a long time. My family stayed in a hotel (a definite rarity in my family) and Jill stayed in the dorms with one of the runners. When we met up with Coach Renko, he was a blur of energy and positive words. He walked fast, talked fast, and stopped at every drinking fountain along the way. He paid attention to me, too, the chubby little 7th grader, and asked with a wink if he should start recruiting me, too. I responded that, while I ran cross country, I was most definitely a basketball player. I didn't know that cross country would become a lifetime thing for me.

When we pulled away from Campus, I know that I had made my decision. Iowa State was the one for my sister! Luckily, she made that choice, as well. When we left Jill to begin her freshman year, I think I cried until we hit the Minnesota border, and maybe then some. But, ISU was such a great fit for her. Cross Country was a challenge, but her team was a hit. She made lots of friends. And soon, my sister, the introvert, was bursting with friends. She was so happy and really embracing everything that CC and ISU had to offer.

She called after the regionals and let us know that her team was going to nationals. We were elated, especially since the National Meet was in Milwaukee - yay! Driving distance! The weekend before Thanksgiving, we headed from Southwestern Minnesota to Eastern Wisconsin. My other sister, Heidi, stayed home because she had school obligations to fulfill. We stayed overnight the night before, and then headed to the meet. It was cold and snowy. The skies were gray and heavy with the promise of snow. We watched the race with anticipation and cheered loudly for my sister and her friends. She ran well, so well, and we attempted to run and watch her at different spots, our shoes crunching in the snow that was already on the ground. We were counting at the finish line and knew that the top 25 would be named All-American. She placed high, but I didn't know exactly where and then we found that she had placed well enough to earn the All-American Honors! Not only that, but the team got 2nd! Second in the nation!!! We jumped up and down and cheered and it was pure, and unadulterated joy!

The weather was changing quickly, so we made every attempt to get on the road quickly. We would go as far as we could, hopefully all the way home. We had to go by Jill's hotel to get her bags and we rode in the elevator with a few of her teammates. I remember riding with her new friends from England - quiet Sue Baxter and bubbly Julie Rose. I hugged her teammates, and they tolerated a little sister's eager hugs. And, we waved and said goodbye.

The roads were terrible. We started to see more and more cars in the ditch and when we saw a car spin out behind us and end up in the ditch, we took the next exit. We found a room at the roadside motel and called my Aunt Mary and my sister to tell them that we had had to stop. We would see Heidi tomorrow and we started to settle in for the night. Then, the phone rang.

"When did it crash?" my mom said. I had no idea what was going on, but my heart and stomach dropped when you know that something terrible has happened. My mom got off the phone and told us what little she knew. One of the three ISU planes had crashed. They didn't know which one, they didn't know what happened, and they didn't know if there were any survivors.

I grabbed my jacket and left my parents and my sister alone in the hotel room. I walked out in the cold, hoping that this was a dream. I prayed and, even though I knew it was wrong, I prayed that it was the men's team. It would be terrible, but I could live with that. I was crying and angry and scared. I clearly remember kicking a dumpster and hurting my foot.

I made my way back to the hotel room to a night of watching news clips and crying and feeling helpless and making phone calls. One of my parents got in touch with Heidi. Someone claiming to be the press had been calling our home and asking if she knew where her sister, Jill, was. When she said Jill was in a hotel with my parents, they asked her if she could confirm that. Heidi knew when those questions came, that the plane crash had been fatal and that people were trying to figure out who, exactly, had been on the plane.

The story came out slowly. The plane had been diverted to Des Moines. It went down in a residential neighborhood killing all of those on board. The passengers included Jill's teammates Julie Rose, Sheryl Maas, and Sue Baxter, the team's student trainer Stephanie Streit, Coach Ron Renko, Assistant Coach Pat Moynihan, and Pilot Burton Watkins.

I really don't recall much about the next days. I just know that when we got home, Jill did what she always did when she was upset. She retreated to her basement bedroom and would speak only selectively. None of us knew how to help her or what to do to guide her through this grief while we, also, were feeling the weight of sorrow and the losses.

Heidi and I went to school after that weekend, while my parents stayed home with Jill. It was frustrating to say the least. It was an unwanted 15 minutes of fame. Questions like, "Did your sister die? Who died? If you hadn't gone to the meet, would she be dead?" All unspeakable questions that were spoken to an ill-equipped 8th grader. Teachers meant well, but mostly, I just wanted to go home. And then, when I got home, I wouldn't want to be there, either. What I really wanted, was to go back in time and have the weekend end in a different way.

We had Thanksgiving dinner that week. It was quiet and tearful. My sister didn't eat a whole lot and retreated to the basement as soon as it was socially acceptable. We were unbelievably grateful to have her present with us, but we were all so weighed down with grief about what had been lost. Jill lost some of her best friends and her coaches. She also lost the chance for a long lasting joy of the national runner-up or the accomplishment of becoming an All-American.

How do you ever recover from the greatest joy and most devastating grief - both in the space of a few hours? Recover? Never. Remember? Forever.

I've been coaching high school cross country for eight years now, and track and field for almost twenty. Two summers ago, Jill came to speak at a summer cross country camp that I hold. She spoke of the gifts that cross country can give you. I listened and watched the athletes, few of whom knew the story of her freshman cross country season. She did not speak specifically of the great losses she had suffered. She did tell my team, teenagers ranging from 13-18, that what you do in practice and competition, the friends that you make, the coaches you look up to, that all of these things are a gift. The gift is strength, endurance, and hope. You never know when you will need to draw on those gifts of cross country, but they will always be ready when you need them.

Tomorrow, 30 years after the plane crash, my sister will greet some of her teammates with whom she experienced those great joys and deep grief. She will visit the site of the crash and memorialize and remember those lives taken. She will rejoice in the time she spent with them and the lessons she's carried with her throughout the past three decades. Then, she will get in the car and travel from Ames to Minnesota to spend Thanksgiving with my family. We will all remember, shed some tears, and draw on those same gifts that cross country has given all of us - strength, endurance, and hope.