I did something this weekend that I am not proud of. I saw a post on Facebook in one of the groups for our neighborhood. It said,
[A little background: we live just off Highway “285”, about 10 miles past “Shaffer’s Crossing” and “another four hours” would more than quadruple my husband’s commute home.]
My first thoughts: I should let him know so that he can avoid it or stay a little longer in the city. As you can see my only two options were to Like or Comment, so–like my husband and I so often do when we see something of interest to the other–I tagged him in a comment, saying:
Micah, maybe another round or two of horseshoes before you come home?
Then I scrolled through the other comments, including this one:
I kept busy, but kept returning to this thread for updates. It was already almost eight by this time and I knew Micah wouldn’t make it home to see our girl before she went to bed. Not even sure that he and I would make eye-contact before the sun rose.
The comments on Facebook kept pouring in, and every new comment alerted me to its presence. And then I saw one that shook me to my core:
My second thoughts: How did I miss this? How did I not see past my own self and selfishness to understand that somebody’s someone was never coming home again?
Quickly, I edited my comment, took out the horseshoes reference and hung my head. Ashamed at these second thoughts.
We drove to the bank today, past the tire marks and debris field of the accident that took place on Saturday. I now know that the two who were killed were my age and could easily be people I went to high school with, worked with, or…
I’ve said a prayer for them and for their families. I’ve said a prayer for me and mine.