Grief.
Comes in waves. You can almost watch it roll in and out.
In...denial. It can't be true. He's still alive.
Out...understanding. He's gone.
In...His child no longer has a daddy. His wife, husbandless at 25.
Out...It's silly to cry with six years of separation.
The fact remains that I did know him. We were friends. We had next-door neighbor lockers in middle school. We accompanied each other to dances, with matching corsages and boutonnieres. We shared mutual respect.
He got married, had a baby, and joined the military.
Had I run into him in the last few years since high school, I'd have thoroughly enjoyed catching up. Meeting his family.
His step-brother has lost not only this life in Iraq, but his uncle as well. Within this calendar year. And his father died on Monday. Three of the most important men in his life, gone.
I mourn for that family. For the loss of brother, son, husband, and father. For the emptiness and pain. I pray for comfort and peace, and against bitterness and hatred that can so stealthily fill those empty spaces.
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