October 2008
At first Livvy was sad that I was Abby's partner and not hers, but her uncle put his arm around her and led her to the porch to select a pumpkin. She choose a HUGE, monsterous thing and he talked her into a more managable, traditional size. She apologized when he got his white shirt dirty from hauling it in for her, he smiled and told her it was, "No big deal." He grumbled a little because he was not extremely pumped about the complex design Liv had picked for him to carve into the pumpkin, but he rarely told his nieces or nephews no. So, he agreed to her request and was patient when she messed it up. And, when she lost interest and ran off to play with her cousins, he stayed to finish so that she'd have a pumpkin for her doorstep.
Everyone gets a prize. Haizer and Olivia won for the "Most Original," which Haizer found ironic because he had used a template. He and I laughed about that. I remember him weighing out the jumbo prize bags of peanut M&M's. He was trying to decide which one had the most so that he could choose that one for himself. His mom and I teased him about this. It's a memory I love.
November 2009
I wasn't home when the three people I love the most made plans to meet him for lunch. They arrived home to find a tragedy beyond all comprehension. I got a call from my desperate husband begging for my immediate presence. I was on a school bus with my debate team. The drive from the exit entering my hometown to my actual home was the longest of my life.
I will never fully comprehend what my family suffered in my absence. I can imagine the courage and love my husband had to muster; I can imagine my girls' confusion and panic; and I can remember that there was nothing I could do.
I relive the pain in my husband's voice, his trembling hands, the shock, and the words delivered to our family in a small, white hospital room. Words as from a depressing vocabulary exam: inoperable, unrecoverable, unsustaining, lifeless.
Even when you prepare yourself for the worst, you are not really ready when it comes.
Aren't we invincible? Isn't there a solution for every problem? Medications? Surgery? A magic wand?! A rewind button? A miracle?
I'm aware that tragic things happen to many people everyday. That, in the scheme of life, we have not lost more than anyone else who has suffered loss. We don't miss or hurt any more profoundly. That we are blessed to believe in something bigger, in forgiveness, in eternity.
However, it doesn't make it easier to know these things...
They say time heals all things. I'm wondering if this will hold any truth. Because right now it feels that all time does is put more distance between the vivid truth of memories and the reality of loss.
