As my friends have multiplied with kids, my coping mechanism is to record their birthdates in my address book. It helps me remember names and ages of kids who change so quickly. It helps me remember the fun things of life, the greatest adventure I’ve ever taken, having kids. On Friday the 13th, with trembling hands, I entered a death date. Next to son of my friend. Next to the son of my colleague. Next to the son…of one I knew. Today he died. Cruelly wrenched from this world, from his twin, from his mother, from his brother, from his father, from his family that loved him desperately.
I knew it was coming. It was an inevitability. But until I saw that email, it had not become a reality. I cried. I sobbed. I even wailed a bit. Laura was home. At first she thought I was laughing. She eventually came over to me. She asked what was wrong. She told me to stop. I was freaking her out. I told her I would cry. It’s what I needed to do. I called out to my God. I cried to him as King David cried out when his son was dying. Not literally, but in my heart.
The day did not stand still. I had a daughter at school. I had just seen a friend an hour before. When I returned to school, my face was tear stained. I got a hug and comfort from my community. I thanked God for it. I went to my friend I knew would give me a hug. She gave the hug I needed.
We went on the swimming. Life moved on. I talked about grief to a man in the hot tub who’s mother had recently died. The woman who checked us in had just heard her young friend was diagnosed with brain cancer. The world seemed to meet me in the moment of saying I was not ok to the question that greets us from every human we meet.