And Then There Were Four...
The exci tement of the trip, buying new items, thinking through what might be needed, arriving early to avoid the traffic, carrying suitcases and boxes and crates, watching and talking while he organizes things. And then the excitement ends. Not slowly and gently but suddenly and loudly, like the sound of a guillotine slamming home. A last meal. A last prayer with a tight voice and a quavering chin. And then there were four. A long, quiet drive home, a growing pile of tissues on the floorboards of the car. Periodic conversation gambits fumbled in the haze of sorrow. This morning I got up as usual before the rest of the family. Usually I have to be careful which light I turn on because Christopher's room is a little day-room that looks into the kitchen. This morning I didn't have to be careful. No snarled sheets, no bed-head on that pillow. Oops. Not "Christopher's room is" but "Christopher's room was"... Words hurt. Even the tense of a