The call I received last week at lunchtime shook me to the core. You were on the bus on your way to the game, and you filled me in.
Your voice was shaky, full of terror as you tried in one minute to tell me that Georgie had been at school. You desribed your actions and quick thinking.
My heart stopped and my brain kicked into gear. Events were set into motion that we had hoped wouldn’t occur. Phone calls were made, and you did the right thing by not calling me first. You did all the right things.
I don’t think I will ever be able to describe the feelings in my heart that afternoon. Fortunately I was distracted as I dodged speeding tractor-trailers making their way through Eugene, Oregon as drove to your game. I knew, however, that I couldn’t speak to anyone for a while for fear I would have a breakdown.
I want to give you strength, I want to give you comfort, I want to wrap you in love- but your fragility has made a coherent conversation impossible.
So, I am writing this note to tell you I’m proud of you. I know this has been an incredible nightmare for you -and all of us– but you are learning some valuable life lessons that your father and I could never teach you. You’re one of the lucky ones, and let’s not forget that.
We will also be ready to kick some major @** if Georgie dares to show his face around this house, this town or your life again.
And by the way, there are about 2.3 thousand people standing right behind me.