There was this kid. Either in high school or newly out but nonetheless he drove to work that summer on the same route every morning. One morning he got ready for work just as he did every other morning. This was the whole groundhog day thing, but that morning when he drove south on a highway between two small towns, under an overpass construction, a steel beam came loose from the mouth of a crane and in an instant of time meet place meet momentum meet every thing that happened to everyone that day
that kid was crushed.
That kid's life should not be described by his death though it is the only thing I know about him.
I remember him for his death, and I realize how sad that is.
He was not a martyr for a cause. In my head he was a good kid. He got up, ate some cereal for breakfast while in front of a TV or a computer, said goodbye and I love you to his Mama and got in his car excited about a future. He had no idea that he only had ten more minutes when he started the car. Ten more minutes before the world literally fell apart into a vapor of physically no more.
I remember thinking no last minute suffering, no torture. No fear. No panic. That somehow that was the mercy if any could ever be found in such a situation as the losing of life.
And for whatever reason and no matter how far away we try to remove ourselves from the news, it will inevitably find us. And questions about lives and deaths will somehow plague us and I think the only way to make the screaming stop, the screaming you don't even want to think about, is to understand we don't know all there is. So in my head that kid and his Papaw recognized each other in at least an energy sense. That something more was in store for that guy.
I know people who say they've seen heaven, who dreamed it, but not really a dream it was more real than that. It happened when their young daughter was diagnosed with an illness. They actually saw it, felt it, heard it, and it was
Today I am grateful for the hope we have for each other, for how knowing can sometimes stop the screaming and we can sleep.
(but sometimes I worry about all those things our kids can see and hear)
I am grateful for children's books, for lap sitting, a pacifier, her favorite stuffed animal and how when just bathed that kid smells like heaven must. How even in the darkest moments life is waiting for us to notice.