(I had my first kiss at 14. DO NOT TELL HIM.)
I've been practicing the art of avoidance. I haven't wanted to face what is ahead. But here it is. June 9.
My boy went off with his Scout troop to backpack almost 30 miles. I left him, praying for his safety, and went home to make dinner, put kids to bed, and fold clothes while watching a little TV.
And my brother was already dead. He was already gone. I just didn't know yet that the universe had torn open.
How did I not know? How could the thread of my life have continued to unwind? Why didn't my heart seize? Why didn't the sky go dark?
I'm still baffled by it.
After we got the news, we decided not to search for Josh and the Scouts, even though my Mommy heart wanted to find him, grab him and pull him right next to me to keep him safe. But we decided to let him have three more days without knowing. I wanted him to have the gift of being outdoors, in the mountains he (and we) love so dearly, without the heavy burden of grief I knew he'd eventually have to carry. I think it's what Brent would have wanted too.
And maybe that's why I got those extra few hours of my normal life. Maybe.