Help.
My daughter drove by a makeshift memorial today. The girl’s mother was on her knees, sobbing and rocking back and forth.
A sixteen-year-old girl and her boyfriend were recently killed in our community by another teenager racing his truck. He had twelve traffic citations in the past several months.
There is plenty to be angry about. But I keep coming back to what my daughter saw.
A mother on her knees.
She needs help. That family needs help. The family of the boy who died needs help. And the boy who drove the truck needs help, too.
What does that word even mean when the person you love isn’t coming home?
We can bring a meal. Sit with somebody. Listen when we don’t know what to say. Keep showing up after everybody else has gone back to their lives.
We ought to do those things.
But we cannot undo what happened. We cannot give that mother her daughter back.
Where does help come from then? I mean really… when you’ve reached the end of anything you know how to do?