I think about that specter; the one that knocks on the door deep in the night and steals your heart away. The one that claims the people you least expect, and whisks them to heaven with nary a good-bye.
I have lived in the aftermath of his work far too many a time, and wonder at his methods. I understand all too well that none of us ever, EVER gets out of this alive, but come on. Kids? KIDS? I am a firm believer that no parent should ever have to bury a child; a child of 9, 16 or 30. The numbers mean nothing. The fact that it’s someone’s child means everything.
I am now wrapping my arms around my darling, amazing friend and her family. They are preparing to bury her only boy, who after 26 years of a painful and troubled life spotted with many medical issues - had it end unexpectedly.
I have no words for the sorrow we find ourselves swallowed by.
I have a sense of the path she is destined to travel, as I have held the hand of another amazing woman who is still finding her way. (And Anna, my prayers fly upon wings each night and make their way to your home.)
I am carrying tissues, baked goods, love and courage in my bag tomorrow and traveling once again to that dark corner of the forest I’ve tried so very hard to avoid. (I can find it in my sleep. And that’s not a good thing.)