Our community has been hit hard this time by the devastating tornadoes that swept across our state earlier in the week. Four families from our parish have lost their homes, and one of them, the Hamils, have lost their two little boys.
There are no words to describe the sadness and loss people feel in this situation. Life works in such a way that it's a heartbreaking birthright for children to plan their parents' funerals, but when that situation is reversed, the world reels with injustice.
I am blown away imagining the pain my friends are enduring as they begin the long journey in learning to cope with this loss. When I picked my kids up from school today and saw them standing outside, laughing and playing like always, I felt the pangs of guilt. When my three year old son ran up to me at daycare I grabbed him into my arms and sobbed. I feel humbled and anguished that I get to spend another day with all of my children while my friends are going to be missing their sons, their nephews, their grandsons.
I am going to miss those boys. I am guilty of spending quite a few moments during mass trying to get Cole to smile at me, and waving at Ryan when his mother wasn't looking. I have shared knowing smiles with both parents as they took turns taking their boys out of the chapel because they were being rambunctious. I have watched sweet little Cathleen try to keep Ryan quiet while their mother was taking care of Cole. I have seen the pride and happiness on Hank's face when he looks at his family.
I spent many a slumber party with the boys' Aunt Jennifer, back in the days when things were simple and our biggest worry was waking up with bed hair and ten friends as witnesses. Driving around today, my heart yearned for those days. I want to see my friend worried about her hair instead of her nephews. I want to see her older sister yelling at us for the hundredth time to be quiet instead of mourning the loss of her little boys. I want to her her mom and dad come unloading the stuff we packed and putting on my parents' front porch from when we "moved out" and sort of lived out of her dad's truck for a couple weeks. I want our biggest problem to be which one of us can score a car big enough to live in again.
These things happen and they change who we are. We become the aftermath of tragedy. For those of us who aren't as close to the situation, we eventually pick up and move on. For the parents and grandparents and sisters and aunts and uncles, I cannot pretend to understand. I don't know the right things to say. But I will say that those boys will never be forgotten. They are known and they are loved, and they are enjoying an eternity in which their biggest worry is having nothing to worry about. They are meeting my baby cousin Jadlyn, and pleading directly to Our Lord for peace and comfort for their families. That is my prayer, as well.
