Daddy was living with us that April. He had left the H.O.W. Foundation after completing six more months of rehab and moved in with my family. I was busy finishing my first degree at that time and Daddy cooked and cleaned and took care of everything at my house, allowing me to focus on my studies and my small children. He was sober and fun and we enjoyed having him with us. He was trying hard to get his life back together. My husband and I were proud of him. In an effort to plan for his future, Daddy made an appointment at the Social Security office in Oklahoma City. His appointment was April 19, 1995 at 9:00. Because he had no driver's license, I needed to drive him to the appointment and April 19th was a school day for me. Daddy called and rescheduled his appointment for April 18th at 9:00 and on that morning we drove to downtown Oklahoma City. My youngest child was two years old and was asleep in his car seat. Not wanting to awaken him, I pulled in front of the Murrah building and waited in the car with my boys while Daddy went into the Social Security office to his appointment. Little did we know that 24 hours later, on the very place I waited, a Ryder truck would be parked, a bomb detonated, and our lives would change forever. And really, we were supposed to be in that building that morning.....a fact that overwhelmed both of us.
I think about these two days often and even now, 18 years later, cannot wrap my mind around these events. Everything that happened is beyond my ability to comprehend. One thing I will never forget though, is that one night, shortly after the bombing, when everything we knew was shattered and I was in a complete state of panic, Daddy and I sat on my front porch in the dark. I told him I felt guilty that we were alive and that so many others, including my friends and their children, were not. I felt horrible that I could not do more to help. He took my hand and sternly said, "Whitney, I don't know why I am still here but you have bigger things to do........you need to figure out what those things are and do them. You need to hold your head high, keep your awareness up and never let the bastards get you down. You have moxie, girl. You need to figure this out."
So I sit here today, on this eighteenth anniversary of one of the worst days ever, watching the events in Boston unfold and trying to find the "moxie" that Daddy always said I had, in order to get through this day.