Why Our Hearts Are Broken Over Gabby Petito

LONG ISLAND, NY — If only she had kept driving.

I, along with millions of people around the world, have watched the bodycam video of the day Gabby Petito, of Blue Point, and her boyfriend Brian Laundrie of North Port, Florida were stopped in Moab, Utah for questioning regarding a domestic incident — watched it again and again. I've seen Gabby, wept at the sight of her face, streaked with tears. Listened to that young woman, just 22, sobbing, far from home in an area of the country that, while beautiful, is striking in its vast expanse.

My heart, the heart of a mother, breaks every time.

I traveled to Moab in April with my son, not many years older than Gabby, this spring — a cross-country road trip that was filled with photographs, campfires, and laughter. The kind of road trip that ends with memories and funny stories and plans for the next trip, next summer's national park.

It's the kind of trip, based on her YouTube video, that Gabby wanted. She had wanderlust, the soul of an artist; she was, by all accounts, a spirited young girl who wanted to see the country, soak it all in.

But despite the wild beauty we saw on that trip, there were stretches so wide and empty, I felt some sense of fear. Fear, whether or not it was warranted, that there might be areas where there was no cell service, where it would be impossible to call for help. Where, if someone cried out, no one would hear the pleas.

It's every parent's nightmare.

Every parent who has ever hugged their child good-bye as they headed off to college, or on an adventure with friends, to travel across the globe, or even just to go out for the night, driving for the first time, has had that gut-wrenching drumbeat of fear, that "what if?"

Every parent has prayed and will continue to pray, fiercely, for their children, no matter where they are or how old they are. The words "every parent's nightmare" have never been more true.

The whole world was hoping for a miracle, hoping Gabby's family could have their sweet reunion, wrap her safely in their arms. We are crying, together, for their grief. All I can think about is how afraid Gabby must have been in that vast, open area. . . .How alone.

And beyond this all-encompassing grief that colors my days now, as it does all of ours as we mourn the life of this bright, giggling young girl we've all come to know through her blog and videos — that image of Gabby laughing as the rain pelts her tent and she struggles to keep it upright will stay with me forever — there is anger.

Yes, I'm heartbroken but I'm angry, too. No, livid. She was there, with the police, with the park ranger who warned her that she was in a "toxic" relationship. Why could no one see the signs?

Her tears — labeled as "crazy" by her smirking, put-on-an-old-boys'-club-attitude boyfriend — felt so easily dismissed. He was laughing, but her body posture? Defeated.

For the many who've played the shame-the-victim game? Even when the police asked, before the two were separated for the night, if she'd like to say she loved her boyfriend, if she had a message, she quickly mentioned being sure he had a phone charger. Her eyes, her face, her body, curled in on itself, said it all. She didn't see a way out. Didn't know how to find a path.

Didn't know how to keep driving that van alone.

She was terrified of being left out in the middle of the country. That's why, by all accounts, she was trying desperately to get into her own van, after Brian purportedly locked her out, possibly without her phone, ostensibly to calm her down.

She was afraid, we've been told, that he'd drive off without her.

She was 22 years old — so very, very far from home. And yet, by some small mercy, the van was stopped by police. Help was there. She could have been saved.

She should have been saved.

While Gabby's death was ruled a homicide after her remains were identified at Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, we don't know yet if she died at the hands of the man she loved — he has officially been called a "person of interest" in the case — the one person on earth whom she trusted to protect her.

But no matter who was responsible for her death, there was a moment in time when the story could have had another ending. When counseling might have been provided, a plane trip home — options.

We need change. Although the police followed procedure and seemed to genuinely care, we need legislation that provides new protocols. Domestic violence experts, perhaps, who might be brought to the scene of these incidents to carefully assess what's really happening. We need to do more, to shine a light on domestic violence and remove the stigma. We've talked for years about erasing the shame surrounding addiction, and well we should — but domestic violence remains the last deeply hidden secret, the one people keep buried behind closed, barred doors.

The dark secret so deeply internalized that women like Gabby die alone, afraid, not even knowing that they can find help. Not even realizing that nothing that's happened is their fault.

We need to come together as a society and say, no more. Never again will help drive away and leave a sobbing young woman to reunite with a man who might have been her abuser.

She was just 22 years old.

She needed someone to insist that she get real help — to tell her that she was not, in fact, crazy. That she had valid concerns and that there was a way out. She needed all of us.

Shame on this collective society for not making it easier to help Gabby and the many like her. Shame on all of us, if we remain silent and don't demand change.

But now, all we have are the videos of a smiling, sweet-spirited young woman, mixing up yogurt and granola and dancing nymphlike by the sea, the wind in her hair — the future in the bright blue of her eyes.

When Gabby died, we lost a piece of our hearts. A bit of our collective innocence died with her. Our fervent wish, lost forever, that somehow, she'd get her happy ending and fly home into her parents' eager arms, so many miles still to wander, dreams to explore.

I wish that night they were separated and she had the van, that she had driven far, far away. She was building a future, had talent and plans for a career and so much ahead of her. When you drive into Utah, the sign on the road says "Life Elevated." How I wish she'd seen how beautiful her life could be, how she could elevate herself beyond whatever she was living through.

How I wish she'd kept driving.