Our southeast Kansas landscape reflects the soul of our small community tonight. Although spring's buds are popping through the surface, we will never look the same, never be the same. Little limbs are damaged and today a large branch has broken off completely.
Lacey, the young mother of Hailey's classmate, died in a car accident after dropping her girls off at school. I don't know the details. I only know that a first-grader and a fourth-grader have been left without a mother. A husband is now a widower.
Lacey worked at the library with my good friend, Liz. Because of my frequent trips to the library to visit with Liz, check out books or just get away for a bit, I felt like I knew Lacey...or at least I was getting to know her. Our girls are both in fourth grade and I looked forward to getting to know Lacey more over the next several years. In fact, I sat alone at a table with her and her two daughters at the last PTO meeting, hoping that familiarity would form into friendship before our daughters graduated from high school.
In January Isabella developed an aneurysm and required open-heart surgery at the tender age of one. February brought the situation with pre-schooler Katherine. Now March has marched in this tragedy. In a town with a population barely exceeding 2,000 we feel overwhelmed and confused. I haven't even mentioned everything because the bleakness would become complete blackness.
I originally planned to post a light entry today about Hailey's basketball season, but that felt irreverent, disrespectful and false given the day's events. My late stream of sad stories probably deters any new blogging friendships I've begun creating, but I have to remain true to the original intent of my blog: to journal my life and work a little (a very little lately) on my writing skills (I use skills loosely).
Today when I picked Hannah up from preschool, her first words to me were, "Kaprin Cook. (Katherine Cook)." The first thing Hailey said to me after school today was, "Did you hear about Lacey?" Realizing we needed to do something healing, we made a trip to our little Catholic church to say a prayer, let each girl light a candle and simply sit silently in a peaceful environment.
Though outwardly I remained quiet, inside my heart asked, "Why?"
7 comments:
i find, personally, that the heaviest days' (months, years) subject can make for the best blog post.
Oh, I have tears in my eyes . . .
Too much tragedy for one town... I am so sorry for your loss and that of your friends.
I am so sorry- these blows are bewildering and disorienting. It is such a struggle to define ourselves and life, but trying to carry the emotional needs of our children just deepens the pain. I think you did a very good thing to take the time out on the way home. I will be keeping your community in my thoughts.
Warmly...
Thanks everyone for your thoughts. Zoeyjane: I agree, the heavy subjects have more meat from which to write, but I don't want my blog to become depressing.
Lis--I appreciate that
Tara--way too much tragedy. Hopefully it will stop here. Thank you for your concern.
Laruie--"blows are bewildering." Well said.
Tragic. Just tragic. That poor family. My heart goes out to them and to all who have been affected. This is just so sad.
Ugh. When it rains it pours. Althoug my small town is a city compared to where you are, it feels microscopic compared to where I am from. There is something comforting about a place where you know everyone and can support each other in times like this. Our town seems to pull closer together in times of need or tragedy. We are thinking of you.
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