Sunday worship

I woke up at 5:30, extra early because of a bad dream ... a little 'Damien' type character was being a pest.  Toddled out to the dining room, started checking my mail, and went to Facebook.   

I just started into a round of Bejeweled Blitz when one of my GI buddies popped up.  He was upset because he ran into someone he believes was responsible for his brother's death.  He was all wound up and I was not awake, so there was probably a lot missed in that chat, but now I am filled with sadness for a kid that I don't know, and one I do.  When we were done, I did a little bit of googling, and found his brother's obit, his military promotion notices, and his gaming scores.  His gaming scores.  

Oh God.

 This war veteran did not die of some jihad or a roadside ambush.  He died in Michigan, of unpunished blunt force trauma.   No alcohol in his system, thankyouverymuch.

I don't think it's right when people significantly younger than I am die.  It's like they are jumping line; it's just not natural.  Every so often, this reaches out and slaps me when I am being a whiney baby.  I must not be done with God's list of things to do yet; I have not completed all my functions.   I could use a little guidance.  

Perhaps I need to be less of a whiner, and more of a prayer.  God, can you help me with that?  I don't know how to help my friend.  I wish I did.

With fond memories-

This post is to memorialize Jackie, who was killed last Thursday in a wet weather car accident. I went to her memorial yesterday afternoon, and it hit me. Instead of a rowdy "Heeeyyyyy Guuurrrrrrllllllllll" in her thick as peanut butter on Wonderbread drawl, I see her, a deflated Jackie balloon. No more grousing about this or that, no more pleasantries shouted across the parking lot. Oh Jackie, I am sorry.

Crystal did a good job with her mama's hair and make-up, I am surprised she managed to do it at all. I saw her darling son-gosh, he'll be a looker, I hope this won't send him into Stupidland. He's only 16.

Somehow, and I truly believe this, I think Jackie's heart and her personality were too big to turn off suddenly, like a well gone dry. I think she'll be around to peek in on the kids. Her messages won't be delivered in a cheerful bull-doggin' yell; I think they will be in little breaths, the kind that stir dust into sudden tiny vortexes late on summer afternoons.

Jackie, it's been a pleasure knowing you. I wouldn't have prayed so hard for rain if I had known you were the price we'd pay for it.