There was a normal work day, kids to wrangle, dinner plans being made during my lunch, groceries to be gotten and then messages from my husband that kept coming to me in spurts while I was seeing patients. None of them made sense. None of them made me worry. After my last patient left and after my last co-worker had gone home, my husband called. A child in the hospital. A dear friend is in need. I can go straight there. Our dinner plans (with that family) have abruptly ended and a dark tidal wave was beginning to take shape. Our dear friend lost her sixteen year old son that night. Time stood still. Tears, grief, clocks that read confusing hours, emptiness and getting in the car and arriving home after a drive I don't remember.
Our friend moved in with us for these past days that turned into weeks. It felt good to give hugs when needed, cry together, and watch her from across the room, trying to always keep track of this dark tidal wave that is a part of our lives now. We said goodbye to that beautiful sixteen year old boy on Saturday night and I felt the uncertain feeling unfairness creep in and wash over my entire body. How unfair that I was so privileged to have this dear friend at the birth of Everly - to welcome her into the world, and now I had the honor of praying for her son as he left us. Dear, sweet boy. We'll miss you and your smile that lit up the room, your dreams and plans taking shape of becoming a pilot, your infectious enthusiasm for so many things, your ability to lead groups of kids of all ages and create a world of make-believe that inspired all of us who watched from afar. Thank you for making my boy passionate about boats, for stopping mid-stride on your way to your fort to give me a hug, and for endlessly pushing my kids on your tire swing. We will all deeply miss you.
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