family friends

My father was, for a few years, a leading member of a pack of three. Three friends who worked together, who plotted together over money-making schemes in the evenings (usually at our house), who sometimes gathered their families to go out for coffee at one of the local cafes.

One year I went home, and I asked my father where his friends had gone to. He told me, George died. George died? Why didn't you tell me before? And with a little chuckle that I recognize, because I seem to have inherited it, as nervous energy bubbles to the surface when it needs an outlet, he said- George and his whole family.

The family had gone on a vacation by car to Syria. It was George, his wife, their two children, a relative of theirs, and the driver of the rented taxi. On the way back, a car hit them from behind. A potentially survivable accident. But, the containers of cheap gasoline bought in Syria were in the back, and they lit.

And it gets worse.

The ones in the back seat were found climbing towards the front, trying to escape the flames.

All this, and there's more.

The car, out of control, veers into incoming traffic and gets hit again.

You can breathe out- that's the end.

The story came out in the papers at the time. A human tragedy. Even if you didn't know them, you would have cried a little bit over their fate. There are so many questions- even the trivial ones like what happened to the house they had just bought and moved into? where do you start to pick up the pieces of all of these people? who does that? whose job is that when there is no one left? would it have been better to have one survive so some trace of the family could remain with us? Juliana, George's wife, worked passionately in a home for abused children- could those kids handle another loss?

Sometimes I remember this family. It seems to be out of the blue. I have people closer to me that I mourn like a subtle hum that stays with me. But, somehow, there is room in my heart for George and his family, too.

visit from a neighbor

Tonight I got a drop-in visit from a neighbor. She is an old lady, retired, a little afraid of people. But she still somehow made a connection with me and JQ, and she stopped by today to ask some questions about moving house. And I did not buy it, but I accepted it- her way of putting a reason for the visit. And we talked about whatever we could pull up between the two of us. Two unrelated, very different people. She, retired, no money, looking to buy a house in the middle of Pennsylvania to save money in the long run, obvously thinking that is where she will end up at the end. Me, younger, starting out, trying not to think about those years in the distant future, trying to focus on life now with energy and time. It was a nice cup of tea, and I feel connected again to life, complete life, not just my bubble.