Fare thee Well

E and A and I watched A Knight's Tale last night, erm, I mean, early, early this morning. After the film ended, I walked upstairs to find them both in my bed, feigning sleep. The art of laying a good hint is wanting in them. A dramatic sigh escaped from my lips. I slipped in between them and the lamp was turned off. You see, I simply couldn't refuse them the comfort of their mother's presence tonight, nor my own of their corporeal sweetness.

I awakened to my little K climbing into the bed of bodies, trying to discern her mother's among them. She lay next to me for a few minutes feeling my hair. I stroked her arms and back and breathed in her sweetness.

E and A lay on either side of us; eyes still closed. The rhythm of their inhaling and exhaling a lullaby to my still drowsy eyes. Soon, C awakened. I sent K to get dressed and then quietly got my own clothes on. With keys in hand, C, K, and I left the sleeping beauties to retrieve donuts and a Venti for me.

As we made our way home, the sun sneaking between the branches of the stoic Elms, I listened to an NPR interview with Mary Chapin Carpenter. She is one of my favorite singer/songwriters. Her metaphoric insight into the human experience is unparalleled. I had avoided thinking about the tragic news I had received the day before, but the sound of Mary's voice blending so smoothly with the her acoustic accompaniment, drew the grief from the pores of my heart.

Yesterday had been quite busy, so when I arrived home, I ran downstairs to check the machine as I scanned the mail in my hand. After a few messages promising me the vacation of a lifetime in Mesquite, the voice of my friend Kelli came on. I could tell she was attempting to control the urgency, but still something was there in her voice. Back upstairs in the kitchen, I started dinner. My mind was on the City Council meeting I needed to attend in an hour. The children came in and out chatting and getting themselves ready for their evening activities. I remembered Kelli's request to call her, so I picked up the phone and dialed. I left a few messages and hung up with my attention turned again to the Council Meeting and food preparation.

After popping the dish into the oven, the phone rang; Kelli's voice on the other end. I leaned against the counter, scratching my foot with the other, taking quick sip of wine. I paused to tell the girls to get their shoes and be ready to leave in a few minutes. She still sounded a bit pensive. Then she told me that Becca had been killed in a car accident. The girls having settled themselves on the floor and hurriedly tying shoes, slowed down as they heard their mother's voice crack. The call was brief. When I hung up, I saw the look in my girls' faces. Who? What?

Becca was 17; a senior in high school this year. She was a sporty girl and good with children. It was Becca that my girls preferred of her 7 sisters. She liked Barbies and jumping on the trampoline. Patience was one of her many virtues. I always preferred for my girls to be around someone who wasn't immediately annoyed with their childish antics. She babysat once a week while a group of my friends and I got together for a Bible Study, coffee and sweet rolls (as they are always called in the kitchens off the dirt roads of America) and mutual commiseration of the challenges of life. Becca brought games, books, videos, snacks, and smiles- in other words, we never heard a peep while we munched, sipped, and whined.

Knowing that no one is perfect, I am sure that Becca had her own issues to deal with. She was one of 9 kids in a minister's family. The societal pressure to be perfect was probably tremendous at times.

I simply cannot imagine sending my child on an errand never to see her again. Never to hear her voice, angry with me; never to see her hair glitter in the morning sun; singing while showering; fussing over herself before going out the door; not to see another hard earned accomplishement baptized with the tears of her perseverance and sweat of her labor; never to see her belly swollen with the love of her heart; her eyes wide and overflowing with love for a man that lives to love her. I cannot pretend to empathize with Cliff and Cindy as they bury their child today in the afternoon sun of a Missouri field. I can only humbly offer my gift of sympathy and pray that the love of their wonderful child will fetter their hearts in strength to face each minute of each day until they meet again.

Fare thee well,
My own true love.
Farewell for a while.
I'm going away,
But Ill be back;
Though I go 10,000 miles.

Oh come ye back,
My own true love.
And stay awhile with me.
If I had a friend
All on this earth,
You've been a friend to me.

Rest well, Becca.