We Never Know

Any other day, any other time, and he would have been in big trouble. Can you tell Hyrum has been here?

I left my lesson preparations out on the library table, and he just couldn't resist "marking" my bookmark.  Green and blue added to my red.  What's the problem?

If it had been an ordinary day, I would have yelled at him, punished him, sent him to the corner.

But yesterday wasn't an ordinary day.

I came home from errands, started lunch for my two little monkeys, then went upstairs to check my messages.  Message from Idaho--my sister.  A dear friend from high school and an accident.  She lost her three-year-old son Sunday.  He had been riding the tractor and fell.

Gone.

Losing a child is painful and difficult.  And losing one so suddenly and so tragically must be worse--the hardest thing any parent must bear in life.  My heart searched for this friend--a woman I have seen rarely since high school twenty-four years ago.  A friend I shared many things with--a friend who taught me many things and embodies many qualities I wish I had.  A friend who is now mourning and missing and blaming and questioning and breaking.

I am so sorry.

These events always make our own loved ones appear less human and more divine--less naughty and more loved.  Less neglected and more cherished.

I took my own precious three-year-old son in my arms, read him a story, hugged him close.  Tucked him into his bed for a nap, wrapped in his ratty silky. And sang him two songs, just because he asked.

Then, I went to the library, picked up that bookmark, and decided it will forever mark this day in my heart.

Hold them close today.  You never know when it will be the last.