Last week had been a normal week except for the clumsiness. I attended an appointment with my psychologist, was given a thumbs up on my recent recovery, and some meaningful perspective when observing my daughter. It seems that knowing the diagnostic characteristics makes you hyper aware of them in your children as they grow. A bit like being in medical school and self-diagnosing with every horrible malady that you come across. I left her office feeling better, centered, and in need of a Route 44 Diet Strawberry Limeade from Sonic.
I drove the 10 minutes to the highway (Warner Robins), and without much thought, I entered I-75 southbound. I listened to my book, thought about possible locations for an internship, and trying to be as careful as possible. Just south of Perry, the highway came to a complete stop, and in my irritation, I wondered why people have to gawk at accidents. As I passed, I noticed how terrible the accident truly was. Several vehicles were involved, and one was on its side. It had been rolled over and over with all of the windows shattered. A sheet was tied to block the view into the vehicle. My stomach dropped, and I just wanted to turn around and head back to my psychologist office.
Hours later, I learned that the fatality of that terrible scene was the father of a childhood friend. I doubt that he will ever read this, but if he does, I want you to know that I prayed for your father and his family long before I knew that it was you. I am still praying for you, I know what it means to lose someone unexpectedly and that it hurts so much that you can’t stand it at times. I love you. You will always be the friend who helped me survive middle school and high school. You are the person who convinced me that bangs were my enemy. You were the person who almost fainted when I got my first tattoo. I love you and I am so sorry for your loss.