Reminding myself that mourning is at time the best and only first response to tragedy.
When the phone rang, I felt clueless as to why my nineteen-year-old daughter was sobbing uncontrollably. As she tried to communicate to me what had happened, she alternated between drawing in short staccato-like breaths and trying to speak. All the while, my mind raced from one possible scenario to another. None of them good.
After a few minutes, she was able to tell me that her dear friend had been killed earlier that morning in a traffic accident. He was only nineteen. The same age as my daughter. As soon as the words sunk in, I felt like someone slammed me against the wall. It hurt, physically. Unable to wrap my mind around the full implications of this young man’s sudden death, I urged my daughter…
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