On Being Okay

My mom was killed exactly one year ago.

A lot happened before that, a lot happened on that day, and a lot has happened since.

Goodbye

The last time I saw my mom was when she came to visit Seattle with my uncle, who was visiting from Hungary. I showed her all the places that I love about Seattle, all the things I did in my free time, and spent the whole day with her. Since then, I carry the public transit pass that she bought with me. It's always sandwiched between the back of my phone and my phone case:

The last time I spoke to my mom was on Mother's Day, 2018. I think she was in a rush, because we only spoke for a couple minutes and she didn't have much to ask me about. She hung up before I could say goodbye.

2018-05-15

I had recently begun a new job at school, and it was my third day working. I received a distressed message from one of my mom's friends, around 2:00 PM, while I was working. She asked if my mom was okay, if she was back from her trip to Hungary, and if I had spoken to her recently. I honestly did not know the answer to any of these questions, because I didn't speak very frequently with my mom but I was under the impression that she was still on her trip in Hungary. Then my mom's friend said that "something happened" at the private salon that she operated, Magyar Kozmetika. My head was spinning. A quick search online gave me a single article which claimed that a car had crashed into a business complex on Mareblu, next to the building that my mom's salon was in. I was somewhat relieved, but still shocked and worried. So I tried texting and calling my mother's phone, but got no response. My first thought was that there were so many people trying to do the same, that the nearby cell tower was being overloaded. Unfortunately, that was not the case.

I tried to continue working my shift, while frequently checking for new articles online about the incident. Different articles and updates to previous ones slowly trickled in as the hour passed, and the consensus was that a gas leak cause some sort of explosion. At this point I began to panic, and tried to contact my mom with no success. Shortly after, an article posted an aerial picture of the scene with an updated address: 11 Mareblu, Aliso Viejo, California. My heart sank, because I had recently helped my mom move to her new location and that was the address. Further in the article, it mentioned that the incident took place in a "corner suite on the first floor" of the business complex. Magyar Kozmetika was in a corner suite, on the first floor. I took a closer look at the aerial image, and tried to imagine my steps through the building, only to realize that that was a picture of my mom's corner suite. It was undeniable: something happened in my mom's corner suite.

I left work immediately, and ran to my dorm. I frantically called the Orange County Sheriff's hotline to find out more information about the victims or about what happened. Their lines were so flooded, that there was an automated message pertaining to the incident. It said that information about the incident would be released online as soon as it was available. But that was not going to work for me. The most recent articles confirmed that some sort of explosion occurred, killing someone and injuring (and seriously burning) two others. I began to cry, but I did everything I could to find hope. I called every ER, ICU, burn ward, and hospital in Orange County and asked if they had recently admitted anyone by the name "Ildiko", "Ilidko Krajnyak", "Ildiko Krajnyak-Vestil", or "Ildiko Vestil". One by one they all told me that no one by that name had been admitted, and I held back tears while I begged them if they knew anything about the incident. Only one hospital had heard about it, but they didn't know where any of the victims would have gone for treatment. I was running out of options.

There was no way that my mom was killed. She's... my mom. It just wasn't possible. I refused to accept it. After another round of calling various hospitals, I tried calling the Orange County Sheriff's Office again. I finally got through to a live person, and uttered a phrase that I never thought I would have to. My mind was racing, tears were streaming, I could barely talk, and my body was shaking. All I could let out was, "I think I'm next of kin." The person on the other end of the line said, "Let me connect you to the coroner's office." I felt my heart stop. I knew it was in the realm of possibilities, but I did not prepare myself to hear that. I spoke to someone at the coroner's office, repeated the same phrase, and they connected me to their field agent. To paraphrase, part of our conversation went as follows:

...
Field Agent: There have been a couple people that say that they saw your mom walking in and out of the building today so, considering the circumstances and the other two victims, we think that it is likely that your mom was killed in the explosion. I so sorry to tell you this.
Me: Is there any way for you to tell for sure?
Field Agent: The explosion compromised the structural integrity of the building, so they are not letting anyone on to the scene yet. But I'll be one of the first people there, and I'll call you as soon as I know more.
...

I wept. I bawled. I think I screamed. My head was pounding. My body felt like it was about to implode. I felt so small and powerless. Tears were smearing case numbers, phone numbers, and names that I had been jotting down in my notebook. I couldn't handle being in my dorm, so I left for a walk. I didn't know when I would come back, or where I would go but I needed to do something. While I was out, I received a phone call from the field agent that was a first in a series of incomprehensible conversations that I would have following this day.

Field Agent: So they just let us onto the scene, and we cannot tell for sure but we think that the victim is your mom. Again, I'm so sorry to tell you this.
Me: What do you mean that you can't tell for sure?
Field Agent: Well, normally, we can identify the victim by looking at their body. But sometimes that's not an option for us. At that point, we would take fingerprints to try to identify the body but we are not able to do that in this case.

I felt like I was about to vomit.

Field Agent: The next options we would look to are dental records or surgical records. I know this is a very hard question, and you don't need to have an answer right away but it would help us immensely if you could think about this. Do you know if your mom had any recent dental work or metal implants as a result from surgery?

I knew that my mom recently had dental work at the same orthodontist that I went to, so I told the field agent what I knew. She asked if I knew my mom's dentist, and that was also the same as mine. Our conversation ended there.

My neighbor informed me that the FBI had raided my home with about 30 agents wielding guns. She said that they were carrying boxes out of my house, and loading them into a massive van. That explained why my dad wasn't responding to my messages that night. It turned out that every phone and computer in my house had been collected as evidence, and my father, grandmother, and my mom's cousin were being held in the living room while this took place overnight. There was going to be a press conference in the morning about the incident, so I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. Why did this happen? How did this happen?

The next morning, I sat in the HUB with some friends while I watched the press conference. At 3:00 minutes into the press conference, they said my mom's name and I began bawling in a public space. I couldn't control myself. I... My world stopped. The other part of that press conference that broke me, was that they did not believe the incident to be an accident. ... Someone did this. After that I knew I wasn't going to be able to go to my classes, but I was compelled to inform my professors. I was blinded by all my emotions when I burst into my Probability class, late, while everyone was silently taking a quiz, and told my professor out loud "My mom was killed yesterday in an explosion, so I don't think I'm going to be able to attend class for a while." My next interaction with a professor went a little better.

I went to Adam Blank's office, and probably interrupted him while he was finishing the slides for the lecture that he about to give in 30 minutes. I broke down crying in the middle of explaining myself, and he told me that he's gonna make sure that I get all the help that I can. He walked me down to the advising office, introduced me to an advisor that he was close to, and sat there with me while I just cried for 30 minutes. I tried to remind him that his class was about to start, but he told me that he wanted to make sure that I was okay before he left. If you're reading this, Adam, thank you.

After that was a series of therapists, flights, condolences, and interactions that are a visceral, traumatizing blur. But above all of it, the worst things I experienced were the decisions that I had to make, and the constant harassment from TV news stations that stalked my home. I left school for two weeks, and was fortunately afforded to opportunity to complete all of my missed work over the following summer.

Hello

I'm okay.

That is my honest, sincere, complete answer to the question "How are you doing?" I don't know if it will ever get better, but I seriously doubt that it will. Every day is a challenge, and I am faced with the Sisyphean task of distracting myself with enough work to not think about my trauma. Obviously this does not work all the time, and I either overwork myself or ruminate for hours, replaying in my head everything that has happened. I'm trying my very best. I don't know what to do, or what's best for me, but I am trying so hard.

People share their condolences and sometimes commend me for how "strong" I am and how well I'm doing, but I don't really know how to respond or how to agree with them. Things aren't getting better, but I'm still managing to keep my head above the water. I started working as a Teaching Assistant in the Computer Science department this quarter, which gives me the fulfillment of helping other with something that I am passionate about. I've been making more friends than I thought I would ever have, and I've been connecting more with those who are close to me. I'm not sure where I would be without that support network. I wish I knew how to appropriately and adequately thank everyone that has helped me along the way, and everyone who still helps me. I appreciate every thought, even when it's hard for me to see past the past.

I haven't really been able to sleep for the last year, and that's only become worse with recent developments in the FBI investigation. Every day feels like I'm more tired than the last. My nightmares have become so frequent and intense that I often wake up and genuinely fear that someone is trying to kill me. I'm struggling to find things that keep me going, and I'm running out of things to try. But I haven't given up. A long-time friend told me that I'm never going to have the same "normal" life that I used to have, and I'll have to find a "new normal." I'm still trying to find that.

I'm still figuring out how I want to lead my life, and what I want to do with it. As of now, I'm doing my best to support the people close to me.

"I believe our adventure through time has taken a most serious turn."
-Ted (Theodore) Logan, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure