Today I'm thinking about my sister Jill. She would have been 37 this year. I wonder sometimes what she would have been like. Would we have gotten along? Would she have helped me hide flamingoes around Jennifer's house? Would she have been a bridge in communication with Julie? I don't know. She died less than an hour after she was born.
Today I'm thinking about Travis. I don't know how old he would be. I was friends with his sister. She and I had a math class together, and we bonded over how much we disliked it. My dad drove me to the viewing. I hugged his sister for what felt like hours. I cried silently on the way home. I don't remember talking to her much after that. He was probably 11 or 12 when he died.
Today I'm thinking about Josh Linthicum. He would have been 27. I knew him from church. He was shy, but when he smiled, you could tell he was a little mischievous. I was in Poland when I heard. Most of the teens were there on a mission trip. I held them as they mourned, and then did it again when we were back in Poland four years later on the anniversary. He died when he was 15.
Today I'm thinking about Joshua. He would have been 8 this year. I had just started at OMS. I followed his fight to live through the words of his mother. I followed the pettiness and vile, hateful words other people wrote after he died. I felt helpless through all of it. He was 51 days old when he died.
Today I'm thinking about Oliver. He would be a little over a year old. I didn't know his parents well, but I knew people who knew them. I knew there was a risk. I sighed in relief when he was born. I sighed in grief when he died unexpectedly shortly thereafter.
Today I'm thinking about Elijah. He was a bright, inquisitive boy. He was full of energy when I saw him at his mother's (my coworker's) baptism this summer. I can't reconcile that image with the knowledge that he was only 5 when he died yesterday.
I don't know why children die. I know how. I get the science of it. I know the facts. But I don't know why. And rarely do I know what to do. It's not really about me, of course. But I'm really the only one I have control of at any given moment. And my instinct, every time, is to run away. I tend to deal with things by not dealing with them.
Healthy, I know.
But I can also pray. I can pray for my parents, who lost a daughter. I can pray for Travis' parents, who lost a son, and his sister, who lost a brother. I can pray for Ralph and Tanya and Shane and Jill and Will and Joylily, whose grief doesn't really fade with the passing of time but becomes something undefinable. And I can pray for Taylor, who woke up this morning as a mother without a son.
Why? God alone knows. And I have to figure out how to be okay with that.
Today I'm thinking about Travis. I don't know how old he would be. I was friends with his sister. She and I had a math class together, and we bonded over how much we disliked it. My dad drove me to the viewing. I hugged his sister for what felt like hours. I cried silently on the way home. I don't remember talking to her much after that. He was probably 11 or 12 when he died.
Today I'm thinking about Josh Linthicum. He would have been 27. I knew him from church. He was shy, but when he smiled, you could tell he was a little mischievous. I was in Poland when I heard. Most of the teens were there on a mission trip. I held them as they mourned, and then did it again when we were back in Poland four years later on the anniversary. He died when he was 15.
Today I'm thinking about Joshua. He would have been 8 this year. I had just started at OMS. I followed his fight to live through the words of his mother. I followed the pettiness and vile, hateful words other people wrote after he died. I felt helpless through all of it. He was 51 days old when he died.
Today I'm thinking about Oliver. He would be a little over a year old. I didn't know his parents well, but I knew people who knew them. I knew there was a risk. I sighed in relief when he was born. I sighed in grief when he died unexpectedly shortly thereafter.
Today I'm thinking about Elijah. He was a bright, inquisitive boy. He was full of energy when I saw him at his mother's (my coworker's) baptism this summer. I can't reconcile that image with the knowledge that he was only 5 when he died yesterday.
I don't know why children die. I know how. I get the science of it. I know the facts. But I don't know why. And rarely do I know what to do. It's not really about me, of course. But I'm really the only one I have control of at any given moment. And my instinct, every time, is to run away. I tend to deal with things by not dealing with them.
Healthy, I know.
But I can also pray. I can pray for my parents, who lost a daughter. I can pray for Travis' parents, who lost a son, and his sister, who lost a brother. I can pray for Ralph and Tanya and Shane and Jill and Will and Joylily, whose grief doesn't really fade with the passing of time but becomes something undefinable. And I can pray for Taylor, who woke up this morning as a mother without a son.
Why? God alone knows. And I have to figure out how to be okay with that.
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