there was a terrible accident in Seattle this week. all the way across the country from the east coast. I caught a bit of it on the news, a set of grandparents walking across a street with their daughter and her baby — and — suddenly they are hit by a drunk driver. grandparents killed, baby and mom in critical condition….
I stared at the TV, said a silent prayer for all of them, shook my head and went about my day.
Then I went, two days later, over to see my daughter, whos best friend had flown in with her 7 month old baby, from the west coast, to visit. She had never met my youngest grandchild and walking into my daughters house it was wonderful to see those two girls together again. We chatted a few minutes, sitting on the floor marveling at the perfection of the three babies they had produced. Then I asked, how are you, hows John? and a glaze came over her face, she swallowed hard and related the story of how there had been a tragedy the day she left Seattle. Her husband had been planning a peaceful week at home while she came east, but then he got the call that his friend’s wife and child were in critical condition, his inlaws dead.
And suddenly the world shrunk, almost like it had been shrink wrapped in that filmy plastic stuff that wraps Easter baskets and the like.
Small small world. Pain and connection and sorrow and wonder stretches across the continent, just like that.