6/28/06 The Pouring Rain, Part III

It just couldn’t be true that those bones belonged to Amber. She couldn’t be gone. I felt as if I knew her after spending all these months with her family. Now I would never get to hear her laugh or sing. I would never get to meet her and see for myself why they called her their “pistol”. There would be no miracle for the Harris family.

I sat motionless, staring at the TV screen. I watched, but did not see. I listened but did not hear. From a distance came a noise that was not discernable at first. It grew louder and made its presence known. It was the sounds of the Harris family home; the sound of sobbing and of other angry, unbelieving voices. If pain had a definitive sound, this was it.

I remember very little of the rest of that evening. I tried to call their home later on, but could not get through. I decided that I would not go unless I was asked, in respect of their time of private grieving. I hoped and prayed for strength for their family as they entered into the new mystery of their daughter’s death.

I felt selfish that I had ever thought the body might be that of my own son, and it ended up being their daughter. They had hugged me and comforted me in the time of waiting, and when it had been revealed privately 2 days prior that the remains were female, Melissa told me that she was so happy for me. I was amazed at the depth of compassion in that simple and unselfish statement.

I had to work the next day. I somehow make it through, faking pleasantries throughout the day with my customers.

Some of our board members were able to make arrangements to meet early that evening and then pay a visit to the family. I prayed for all of us to say the right things and play some small part in comforting the family. I wanted to wave a magic wand and make it all go away for them. Who could even imagine something like this happening? It wasn’t a TV show, it was real.

I had been riding the roller coaster of emotions for weeks and I wanted off. I craved some semblance of normalcy, although nothing is ever truly normal in a household with an empty chair.

The next day, Sunday, was my younger son’s high school graduation. We were determined that his triumph would not be marred by these events. We had to switch gears from grieving loss of life, and celebrate his life. I was determined we would not speak of the events of the past few days. I vowed that the day would belong to Michael. After all, his life, since age 13, had been overshadowed by the loss of his brother. Considering all he has gone through, he turned out remarkably well; a fine young man with a warm heart and a zest for life. I fought back tears as the graduates marched into the arena, my son among them. I was so proud of him.

The sun came out that day and danced among the raindrops in my heart.

To be continued…………..