One Year

A year ago yesterday, our Austin next-door neighbors' son was tragically killed in a car accident.

He and his parents and sister have been very much on my mind this weekend. Just... missing him. Loving them and admiring their strength and, oh, wishing things could be different. We called them to tell them we were thinking of them and to let them know that we have not forgotten him.

We will never forget him.

It's been especially poignant because our good friends Ian and Kristi and their daughter, eighteen-month-old Mirabelle, were visiting this weekend from Austin. There's so much I'd forgotten about little ones and I kept remembering the babyhoods of my own girls. My girls seem so big now by comparison and (stop me if you've heard this) it's just gone so fast. When we moved into the house in Austin, our neighbor's son was the same age that Ana is now --ten years. I bet they saw us with her and remembered his toddlerhood.

And you know, that's how the circle of life is supposed to happen, each aspect of our children's growth graduates into the next phase and we leave the day-to-day of the old behind as we rise to meet whatever new challenge and joy comes before us.

Only, see, sometimes the circle is interrupted in such a terrible and inexplicable and shocking way that it rocks the very foundation of our worlds. I still can't get my mind around it. I still can't make any sense out of it. The grief I am experiencing feels totally inadequate as a response.

Jane(7) who has had a very hard time processing the death of her friend, blew soap bubbles to him on Saturday. I don't know why something so small made us both feel a bit more hopeful but it did.

Hug your babies if you've got them.

Comments

Becca said…
A few years back I went to the funeral of a friend's son who died at 18 in a car accident and it was horrible but lovely at the same time.
I will hug my baby extra hard tonight and try not to sigh the twenty-billionth time he says "Mommeee..."
Mrs.Q said…
I think the bubbles are, truly, a lovely gesture. Thinking of you and yours.
Jolly Roger said…
I still can't process losing a child. My heart breaks for your friends.
Mrs. G. said…
I will never look at bubbles the same way again. Off to hug my two very large babies.
Miriam said…
A year. This must be a nearly unbearable time for your friends. I, too, think the bubbles were sweet.