The phone rang at my one-bedroom apartment. It was my wife-to-be, even though at this point we weren’t dating. I could hear the tremble in her voice. Tears trickled down her cheeks. The horror was all too real for her to bear.
We were a world away it seemed, residing in Rock Hill, S.C. It was where we met, but, on this day — April 20, 1999 — we were more than a couple-to-be. We were a part of a much bigger being — a nation mourning the most horrific high school shooting that our country had ever witnessed.