It's Prom Time

Evan hugging little sister on his way to high school dance

Evan died when my daughter was still being chaffeured from place to place by me, by dad, by Grandaddy or Grammie, by Evan. Driving was not yet on the horizon for her, and in my mind she was still a little girl. I know, 12 years-old is pre-teen, not little. But in mom-time she was little. In mourning mom-time, she was little, vunerable and in need of protection.

The way a sibling dies casts a long shadow, touching all of the things we naturally expect such grief to touch.  Including the obvious, like fearing to drive a car because your brother or sister died in a car crash. In our case, I was determined that my daughter would not be limited by a fear of driving. And more importantly, that I would not be afraid for her. 

My grandmother never drove. She was always driven around by her husband or others. I think she did finally learn to drive, because I know she lived alone after divorcing, and she had to get herself to work, but I NEVER remember her driving anywhere. Always the passenger. She told me that she really didn't like driving and I suspect she was afraid of it. At her house, on a ledge between the living room and dining room was an old, black & white photo of a young woman. She once told me it was her sister. Once. I never met her and I never learned anything else about her. Through family research in the last few years since Evan died, I learned that Granny had a sister Rosalie. She too died young in a car crash.

To manage my fears, I spent quite a bit of time visualizing her driving down I-75 unbothered, unharried, and content. I read a bazillion reviews on the driving schools in my area...wishing I could afford the one led by former police officers so that maybe she'd learn something we don't know. They had the best reviews. When it came down to it, Scott did all the front seat monitoring while she had her temps. She was cautious and confident almost always. If I did go for a ride, I sat in the backseat. Silent. Making sure she couldn't see my face in the rear view mirror. Every little thing had me biting my tongue, gripping the door handle, crinkling my face. 

One of the only times I rode with her while she was a brand spanking new driver, an impatient driver laid on the horn and sped around her into an intersection. They didn't cause an accident or anything since this was an empty neighborhood side street and she was stopped at a sign, but my adrenaline amped up, and I went straight into fight mode. How dare you do anything to distract, demean, or endanger MY daughter? Asshole was the nicest name I called this person in my head, and thankfully, the only word that came out of mouth. What I really felt was anger and fear about not being able to control the road and everyone on it to protect her. And deeper down, anger about not being able to control Evan or the circumstances that plunged him into a tree.

Despite any anxiety I had and tried to hide, we must have been successful. I've had more than one adult who doesn't know our family history say, "Your daughter is the only teen I trust behind the wheel" or "She's the only one I'd let drive my kid somewhere." She's a cautious, but generally confident driver who understands the aftermath of young, wreckless, unnecessary death. She knows it too well in fact.

It's prom time now, and she's found her dream dress. It's perfectly altered and light blue with that Cinderella flow. She is no princess in a carriage girl though, and she wants to drive herself and maybe a friend to prom. Earlier this year MADD sponsored a crash reenactment at the high school with students acting as crash victims and being "saved" by EMTs and Care Flight. We do this thinking it will be an effective scare tactic. But it's prom time. The time when some kid or car full of kids ends up on the side of the road bruised, maybe bloodied, maybe dead.  Every damn year. We all try to warn them. Educate them, but every damn year...

  

My hyper vigilance has reawakened and I don't want this anxiousness to seep onto her, so I'm entertaining the idea of her driving herself to prom. My husband's immediate reaction is plain old, No.  But me, I keep trying to convince myself that I am not going to interfere with her budding independence and confidence with my fears. I can't control others, but I can give her knowledge, so I search how to drive in high heels, how to drive in a gown, tips for driving on prom night, top driving shoes for teen girls in long dresses/full dresses/flowing gown, advice on how to sit in the driver's seat in a formal dress, and on and on and on. All I can find though are all the common sense tips she already knows and the stories of teens who crashed their cars on prom night after looking in the mirror to adjust a tie or makeup, after checking a text, after speeding and laughing with friends, after drinking, after some freaky unexpected, coincidence derails their path. That's not enough to make my decision, I go into a mom group to ask:

Of course, moms come through and give me great tips and advice, but one mom really hits the nail on the head, "To be honest, I’m not sure I would let her, especially as a newer driver. Unless she can make sure the dress is nowhere near the pedals, it’s probably not safe. Just my opinion!" I replied, "Thank you so much for your honest opinion. I hate telling her no because she is so conscientious, but you are right. I guess I just needed to hear it from another mom." I just needed to hear it from another mom. "I get it… we are trying to develop independent girls but also keep them safe." Yes, I just needed to hear from another mom. Just needed to hear from some other mom who doesn't live in this long shadow. I needed to know that my "no" wasn't holding her back. That my "no" wasn't the irrationality that sometimes over takes me when I think to hard about what could possibly go wrong in a life where things will go wrong no matter what I do.