My best friend’s son died last night. Everything is different now.
Everything is black. Everythng is hollow.
He was 31 but I recall him at 5, coming out of my pool, blond hair drying in the breeze. All of life ahead of him.
For months now, his father and I have been reviewing and analyzing a new business opportunity he was cultivating. His dad saw this as a breakout business niche that would bring a powerful new dimension to his life. So we planned and assessed the pros and cons and after the due diligence was done, he flashed the green light and was setting out to make the plan, the dream, a reality.
And now, at this very moment, he is at the medical examiner’s office identifying the body. Before leaving this morning for the most horrible thing anyone can ever have to do, his mother–crying in my arms—wailed that her baby was gone. Not to be at the Thanksgiving table this year. Nothing to feel thankful for. Really, nothing to live for. Their son is dead.
Now the business plans seem so small and pathetic. We have to plan, we have to find a way to make our lives full, we have to know that there are curve balls all over the place, but that some are overwhelming. This is one. Perhaps the only.
In life, we have to put the pieces together even though we have no idea what the puzzle really looks like and sometimes how we can make it whole again.
I know my friends don’t want to go on. The only thing I can do is to help them find something to believe in. Something that brings them even a few inches back to where they were before the police called last night and the world came crashing down.