Empowering Single Parents, through family story

Sitting here, I wondered what on earth made me agree to share how I became a single parent. It still is the most painful moment of my life, yet here I am, I must admit it still feels raw. I hope that by sharing, if you have experienced grief, you know you are not alone, and my story can positively impact you and others.

2017 was a different time for me. I had a loving husband, Troy, and two kids, Baden and Devon. Our family was built around sports, community, and love. Baden played football, basketball, and baseball, while Devon tried new things, but wasn't a repeat offender. We lived on Bainbridge Island, where Troy coached and I cheered from the sidelines. Our home was the gathering place for friends and family. Life was good, but busy. We dreamed of a simpler future, and I planned to scale back my demanding career when Baden entered high school. Little did we know...

I became a single parent at approximately 8-10 p.m. on Saturday, November 25th, 2017. Before jumping right to it, though, I wanted to share a bit more context, partly because I can remember every detail leading up to and of our trip to California for Thanksgiving. These details both haunt me and keep me warm like a blanket each fall as the grief cycle completes another lap.

On Wednesday evening, we headed out of town for Thanksgiving. Earlier that day, Troy worked from home, claiming he needed to fix the garbage disposal I'd 'broken' the night before, cleaning up from dinner. What happened was that I'd flipped the switch, and it made a loud noise before stopping. I'm unsure why he prioritized fixing it before we left, but I'm forever grateful he did. It had been a few years since we'd spent Thanksgiving together as a family - the last time was 2014, when we'd hosted everyone at our home. We hadn't planned to gather in 2017, having already seen each other frequently that year.

Ironically, Troy had been invited to a guys' weekend in Portland, so I would take the kids to Napa to be with my brother and his family. My older brother, my only brother, Daryl, lived in Napa with his wife, Denise, and their three children. The week before Thanksgiving, Troy changed his mind and decided to skip Portland and go with us to Napa, too. Family trips to Napa were always a good time. The kids loved all of it, especially Baden, who at 13 idolized his uncle Daryl and his cousins. The kids stayed up late playing video games and watching movies while we were all downstairs telling stories, laughing, and listening to music. You get the picture.

Our Thanksgiving weekend was filled with family traditions. We spent the holiday with loved ones, cooking, eating, and laughing together. The next day, the kids enjoyed a movie and treats with their grandfather, while the adults caught up with friends. Saturday morning brought a familiar scene: Troy and Daryl prepping for their annual 3-on-3 basketball tournament. Devon showered the boys with hugs and love. Baden was the only one who didn't welcome her hug, as only an older brother could. Baden was too excited to slow down. With a casual goodbye, they headed out for what promised to be an unforgettable day.

I didn't even get up. Instead, I gave a global sendoff like I had done countless times before. I knew they would have a blast because this is one of those longstanding traditions, and it was always a great time. Some years, we even went to the tournament to watch, but we decided to stay home this year.

We had a great day together in Napa, and had just put on cozy clothes to watch a movie when Denise got an unknown cell call. She didn't answer. Moments later, that same number appeared on the TV. Weird, but we still didn't move to answer the home phone either. The answering machine kicked on.

Which was the moment life changed forever. We heard my 19-year-old nephew's panicked voice. There had been an accident. Someone who had stopped let him use their phone. His phone was gone. Maybe it was in the car, he didn't know. Time began moving so quickly and slowly at the same time. We naively thought we could drive towards the accident site on a major freeway and get to them.

The extended family took Devon in. My sister-in-law stayed on the phone with my nephew until the paramedics made him return the phone to the person who had let him borrow it. That person called back to say that she lost people too in a horrible accident, and she was very sorry.

As we kept driving silently, we didn't acknowledge what this stranger had said to us. We had left the house so quickly. We were thirsty, running on adrenaline, confused, and didn't know where we were going. Even now, I marvel at my sister-in-law's wherewithal to be on the phone with her son, drive, stop to buy water, then take directions to some far-off hospital that I could never find again if my life depended on it.

After we made it to the hospital, it felt like hours, and maybe it was, before two officers explained that there were no other survivors in our car.

The moment of truth was suffocating. A person in authority spoke the words, and time seemed to stop. I was left alone, a widow who'd lost her son, brother, and nephew to a drunk driver. I sat frozen, overcome with tears. The world as we knew it was shattered. I had to make calls, share the unbearable news, and reassure my daughter Devon, who was texting me frantically. My responses were laced with love and reassurance, but I couldn't tell her the truth. When the texts finally stopped, I knew she'd fallen asleep, unaware of the devastation unfolding.

I wasn't physically alone until the early hours of the morning, when I was waiting for Devon to wake up. I sat, barely able to blink, wondering what words would come out of my mouth when I saw her. Being awake was a nightmare. Sleep would have paused reality, but I could not rest my mind. There were so many unknowns. Like, how do you tell the school?

Your seventh-grade son died, so he won't be returning to school after the holiday. And your husband's new law partners say his dream of growing a successful law firm died with him. And there were the ministerial details, too. Will the airline refund those flights we won't be taking? What happens when the rented car isn't returned? They had the nerve to bill me for the lost vehicle.

The list grew unimaginable in those hours of waiting. It was close to 9 a.m. when I caught the last glimpse of my daughter, the one with a fully intact family, the 10-year-old who did not yet know such devastation. Devon bounced towards me. 

"Mommy, how are they? Did you tell them I love them? Where are they now? When can I see them?” Said Devon

Those questions came hard and fast. I held her tight, searching for the strength to tell her. I can't imagine how her 10-year-old brain heard what I said.

Community parenting launched. Friends whisked Devon off to distract her. I knew she was safe and relieved she could escape the chaos for a while. Eventually, everyone else returned to their lives, so the meal train, flowers, unannounced visitors, and phone calls stopped. The first two years were filled with memorials, tributes, ceremonies, and the criminal trial. I leaned on the community to watch over Devon when I needed to return to California.

We are very different people as a result of November 25th, 2017. I didn't return to my career. Tragedy immediately changed my perspective and realigned priorities. Devon will graduate from high school in 2025, and I've been firmly planted at home to support her through all the trials and tribulations of growing up.

High school is hard, so I listen, encourage, laugh, and raise my voice when needed. We hold grief's heavy burden alongside the joy of their memories. We say their names, and we love each other along the way. She will reach significant milestones, and their absences will remain a gaping hole in every occasion. Still, tragedy will not define her or us. I have learned to let myself catch joy alongside the grief and hope that Devon does, too. She will launch, and I will be by her side wherever life takes her as her biggest fan and proud witness to her ability to endure and thrive despite it all.

If Amanda's story has touched your heart, consider supporting the community that rallied around her. Donate today at https://tbbfdn.org/donate/ 

Written by Amanda Horn in 2024

Edited by Marilyn Diaz