Southcoast Early Childhood Learning Center was an idyllic preschool
located in a quiet and charming residential neighborhood. The
director, Sheryl Hawkins, set the tone for the school with a caring
and gentle spirit. The classrooms were bright and large, the
courtyard had a garden with flowers, and wind chimes serenaded the
children. I had been bringing my children to the Southcoast preschool
since 1997.
My foster daughter was only 2 years and 2 months old on the day of
tragedy at the Southcoast Early Childhood Learning Center. She had
been with me for five weeks, and enrolled in the preschool for four.
Everything and everyone was still new to her. She was enjoying her
afternoon on the school playground. And then a car came crashing into
her world, the driver intending to murder her and all the other
little children.
I drove up to the school on that afternoon of May 3, 1999, just
moments after the crash. My realization of what happened unfolded in
slow motion. First, I saw the traffic stopping at the intersection
and people running, and I thought "Please God, not in our school." As
parents came running out of the school and told me of the car crash,
I thought "Please God, not the children." And as I went running into
the school courtyard, I was screaming for my daughter "Where is she?"
fearing the worst. And I was thinking "Please God, not my poor child
to whom I have promised safety."
A moment of panic gripped me as I soon realized that my child had
been in this disaster. I found her standing in frozen silence beside
her writhing teacher. Blood was streaked across my daughter's
sweatshirt.
I knelt on the ground, gathered my child into my lap and held the
hand of her teacher, while we waited for the arrival of the
paramedics and police.
It was then that I heard my own cries echoed in the voice of
Sierra Soto's mother, screaming, "Where is she?" But this mother did
not get to embrace her child. This mother's absolute worst fear was
realized. And to this day five years later, her cry of anguish and
rage at losing Sierra reverberates in my memory.
Every single person present at that school on Monday, May 3, 1999,
was the victim of a horrific crime. On that day, a man with murder in
his heart searched for a target, any target, and he found our
children. On that day, we all lost two children. On that day, our
sense of safety was forever shattered.
And yet, also on that day, the true meaning of community became
clear to me. In the moments just after the crash, a parent who was
