Traverse City Record-Eagle

Kathy Gibbons: Northern Living

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February 13, 2010

Kathy Gibbons: If we could turn back time

By KATHY GIBBONS

There's a death notice in the paper. I recognize the last name, and start to worry. Then I see his age. 28. That would be about right. I worry more.

Searching online, I find the full obituary. Sure enough, it's as I had feared.

I think of the tall, thin 13-year-old girl I drove to my now 25-year-old son's freshman formal. His first "date."

She was sweet and model-lovely, even then. Far more mature, as girls tend to be at that age, than my son and his friend, who had gone to great lengths to dress in silly cheesy powder blue tuxes and top hats with canes.

They were really just friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend, and I always retained a soft spot where she was concerned.

Along about their junior year, I got wind of a plan she was hatching to have a party at her house.

Her parents were heading out of town for the weekend, leaving her under the "watchful" eye of her older brother.

So she put the word out. Party time.

I knew I could manage to keep my son away. But I worried if the party went on that maybe some other kid would leave drunk and end up killing himself or someone else.

Still, I didn't want my son suffering the repercussions of being known as the one with the mom who blew the whistle on the party.

So I did what any self-respecting mother would. I contacted a friend who was a psychologist and in frequent contact with one of the high school counselors.

She told him, not mentioning my name. He called the girl's parents. They didn't go out of town after all.

In the years since, I've run into this girl and her mom periodically.

She's grown into a poised, beautiful young woman -- hard-working and recently engaged to be married.

I also knew their family was very close, and that she worshiped her older brothers.

Now here was the obituary for the brother I'd never met -- the one under whose watch the party that was supposed to happen didn't.

According to the article, he'd gone on to college and to create a successful career for himself.

Now he'd had an accident and died.

I was heartsick for this girl and her family, and felt compelled to call. To send a hug through the phone line.

But I didn't want to intrude. In the end, I sent a card.

And wished, for them -- for this girl -- that we could go back in time.

To freshman formals and teenage while-the-cat's-away parties and to an older brother, alive, and willing to put himself on the line for his little sister.

Kathy Gibbons can be reached at gibbonskath@yahoo.com.

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