PHOTO: KATHERINE FREY/THE WASHINGTON POST
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take place two weeks after the accident. Debra Soltis had spent so many hours talking with Kelly about the program that she knew it had to continue. She studied Kelly’s notes, developed a curriculum and taught the program to that year’s participants – including Jillian and Meghan. “Their presence in the room made the entire experience poignant and particularly inspiring,” she says. The program now hosts 80 to 100 girls a year and holds three sessions each summer, including one at a youth center in Southeast Washington. Jillian and Meghan are on a teen advisory board that helps run the camp. For them it’s about the mission, and also about their mom. “That’s when I feel closest to her,” Meghan says. “When I’m doing all the work.” Today’s theme is self-expression, so the campers will talk about how to make their voices heard. They’ll meditate, improvise ways to navigate tough social situations, and take pictures of themselves. And through it all, Soltis says, Kelly will be there. “It’s great that her own daughters get to continue to hear the wisdom and the guidance from her,” she says. “And it’s wonderful that many other girls get to hear it as well.” At the end of each session, the campers decorate mirrors with words and expressions that describe their true essence. Maeve, who wears a rubber band bearing the names Kelly and Sloane around her ankle, spells out “happy,” “confident,” “friendly,” and “stronger.” The Murray sisters were born almost in pairs. Today Maeve, who was just a year younger than Sloane, is the only one with a room of her own – the top bunk above her bed lies empty. Each GirlsUp camper has chosen a personal mantra. Maeve paints hers in blue: “Just Keep Swimming.” “It’s from Finding Nemo, ” she explains. “It means just keep going – even if, like, something bad happens.” “I could say anything to her,” Jillian remembers of her mom. “That’s one of the hardest parts for me. If I have something going on at school or with friends, or if I’m just having a rough day, all I want to do is be able to talk to her.” There’s a consensus among the girls that Sean is doing a good job. He’s naturally a hard-driving military man. “If I ask to do something and he says no, you don’t change his mind,” Meghan says. But, she adds, “he tries to be that soft side, too.” Sean tries to talk about Kelly and Sloane – to mention their favorite movies or foods, to recall stories of things they said or did. But the girls, especially the older ones, find it more difficult. “I can’t really do her justice,” Jillian says. She wants her sisters to know who their mother was, “but I feel like it’s hard for them to imagine her just through words.” So she has found a different way: “I want to be there for them,” she says. “Like she was for me.” And Jillian and Meghan still turn to their mom for support. They both silently talk to her at night before
drifting off to sleep and – though they’d never mentioned it to each other – both have developed a habit of writing her notes. Sean leaves discussion of matters such as bras and menstruation to aunts and grandmothers. As for boys, his philosophy is: “Idleness tempts the devil.” If the girls are occupied with other pursuits, he hopes, there won’t be time to get into trouble. It has worked so far. The girls are on the honor roll and involved in almost every imaginable extracurricular activity. And they’re happy and chatty and outgoing, with magic tricks to demonstrate, bedrooms to show off and a pet turtle named Roxy who likes to make an occasional appearance in the kitchen. “They haven’t just survived the tragedy,” Soltis says. “They’ve thrived.” “Megs, what are you doing?” Sean yells, watching Meghan walk the last 50 yards of a warm-up lap at Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School. It’s the final night of a club track program that Sean started four years ago. Meghan shrugs, smiles and jogs a few more paces to appease her dad. Along with two dozen other athletes, the girls stretch, do jumping jacks and then take their places on the starting line for a mile-long run. This is how Sean prefers things – busy and together. A year from now, Jillian will go off to college. During a 90minute interview, it’s this thought, more than any other, that provokes an emotional silence. “It’s just going to be sort of an upsetting of the apple cart,” he says. As the runners prepare for a relay, the western horizon grows dark. Soon PHOTO: YUE WU/THE WASHINGTON POST there’s a slow rumble of thunder and a flash of lightFrom left, Maeve, Coco and Meghan warm up ning. The Murray sisters look at each other. Coco’s before a one-mile run eyes well with tears and she points to the sky. at Bethesda-Chevy “I know, Coco,” Sean says. “It’s okay. We’re not Chase High School. The girls are involved in a going to put you in danger, okay, Coco?” host of extracurricular He will have to say it again and again as they pass activities. out celebratory popsicles, clap for their coaches and hustle to the Jeep. But the Murrays will make it back before the first drops of rain begin to fall. They’ll file into the brick house, where there will be dinner and showers and bedtime kisses. And where a flag with two rainbows always hangs, ready to welcome them home. IA Editor’s Note: Some of the best journalists today are Irish American, including Ellen McCarthy, the author of this story on the Murrays, which ran in The Washington Post last August. In upcoming issues we plan to run such stories, by Irish Americans, of Irish Americans, as we find them.
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