I've mentioned more than once what a word geek I am and it probably can't be overstated how big a part of my life both reading and writing have always been. I've kept a journal or diary of some sort since I was 8 and in addition I've scribbled countless stories and lame poems and long, babbling letters to friends for at least that long. Words are how I understand everything--I scribble (or type) about every problem or issue I've faced or I pore over words scribbled (or typed) by someone else and, almost always, sooner or later, something clicks and I figure things out or at least learn to live with not being able to figure it out.
Almost always--because I've found that the big, big things defy explanation, defy understanding no matter how much you poke at them with words. Words fail you just when you need them most.
On Wednesday, July 19, Mr. High School*, was killed in an accident on the job. This doesn't seem possible or logical or fair at all. There seems to be no way to wrap my brain--let alone my heart--around the idea that he's really gone. It feels huge to me and my heart goes out to his family--his parents and younger brother--and to his girlfriend, who had such a short time with him and to all the many others who will miss him as well.
*Speaking of words being inadequate, you can't imagine how stupid I feel calling him that right now but, here on the blog, that's who he was.
The Wrong Impression
20 hours ago