The ghost of someone's tradgedy

The title of this post is from my favorite Indigo Girls song: Watershed.

"Twisted guardrails on the highway, broken glass on the cement. The ghost of someone's tragedy, how recklessly my time has been spent"

Two weekends ago, there was crazy weather here on the island. There was sunshine, snow, hail, sleet and freezing rain all within the span of 2 hours on Sunday afternoon. We drove in that insane weather to do some shopping and on our return to the island, was caught up in a police blockade on the highway. Traffic was diverted to side streets and the highway wasn't opened up again until around 3pm. It wasn't until the next day that I found out why.

My daughter brought home a note from the principal of her elementary school. The father of 3 children at her school was killed in a car accident on the way home. His 8 year old son was in the car with him but didn't sustain serious physical injuries.

For the past week, I've been obsessing about this accident. He was young, only 42 years old. It is a mystery how he lost control of the car. By the time we were returning home, that area on the road seemed clear of snow and ice, but maybe not.

We don't personally know the family. I'm positive I would recognize them on sight as we all had children attending the same school. My kids are exactly 1 year older than 2 of their kids so we didn't run in the same circles. We have 1 degree of separation from that family as quite a few of our friends are also friends with them.

When something like this happens, it somehow feels wrong that the world keeps spinning. Somehow, there should be a pause button. There is this guilt that I can still laugh, breathe, or kiss my kids. Things I rejoice in, just seems unfair that family doesn't have them anymore. So in that way, the world did pause in honor of that tragedy.

And then there is the desire to somehow care take for that family. That's how a family gets deluged with casseroles and macaroni salads after a loved one is lost. But you know, after coming out of the fog of losing a loved one, I don't remember who brought the doughnuts or the macaroni salad. I remember that they came. That they sat with me and bore the grief with me. That they reminded me that I could still breathe.

I don't know what I can do to help that family. My friends and I have reached out through a mutual friend. She said she'll let us know what the family will need and will put us on the schedule for cooking meals if that is what the family wants.

So I'll look up an easy to freeze casserole recipe and await my turn, hug my husband especially tight, and try to replace my guilt with gratitude.