Early on the morning of Thursday, September 8, I was packing to leave on my trip to the Writer's Digest Intensive in Cincinnati. At about the same time, my sixteen-year-old granddaughter Kasi was leaving for school with the promise that on her return home that afternoon, she would bake a cake for her father's birthday, which was the following day. 

 At six o'clock that evening, as I was putting the last suitcase in the car, my daughter (Kasi's aunt) called. "Kasi was in an accident," she said. She's dead." 

 My son's beautiful, smart daughter, so full of life, was gone.

Minutes later, my son called and confirmed the sad news. "I don't know what to do," he said.

My heart echoed that thought as I cancelled my plans and headed for Emporia. That night and into the next morning, the details of the accident became clearer.

Kasi and three friends were driving home from school when the car veered toward the edge of the road and the driver pulled back too sharply. The car slid into the oncoming lane of traffic and was hit by a pickup. Thrown from the car, Kasi's body flew threw the air and landed hard on the ground. In only seconds, she went from a vivacious teenager to a dying girl. And she was not alone.

None of the four teenagers were wearing seat belts. Three of the four died . 

 Kasi will not bake her father a birthday cake. Instead, her parents must bury her. 

 Please, if you don't wear a seat belt, start buckling up. There is no time when the crash comes.