Haunted

Saturday morning.

I’m making breakfast. Great Big Sea is blaring from the stereo in the kitchen and Liam and I are dancing like fools. Kate laughs at us from her perch at the table.

The phone rings I rush laughing to the stereo and to the handset to answer.

I barely get the hello past my lips when my friend gushes

“Please tell me you’ve heard from Rick today.”

The smile fades from my face in an icy shiver.

“What’s happened?”

She has no details – just that her friend has been told he’s driving the padre. That means the dead is from here. I put my head down to keep the room from spinning out of control.

“Please God don’t let it be Rick” is the chant that flies around my brain. How would I tell my babies?

I spend the next hour jumping every time a car drives down the street. Then Rick is online.

I can’t describe the relief at seeing him pop online brings.

He can only stay online for a short time. He’s exhausted. Running on only 2 hours sleep and has to be back to work in a few more hours. He loves me and misses me and wants me to be brave. It’s not him or his guys and they haven’t been told any names yet.

Despite the brevity of our conversation I’m grateful. Like a huge weight is lifted off of me. It’s not Rick – thank God.

How horrible is that?

Some poor woman lost her husband today. And I’m taking comfort in the fact it’s not mine. I close my eyes and offer a prayer for the fallen.

Picking up Dani and Holden a few hours later I discover that it’s their neighbour that’s been lost. The sadness in the neighbourhood is palpable, baking off the houses like heat in July.

The kids are glad to be leaving the emotional turmoil behind for the night. I can see in their eyes that they’re scared and sad. Dani’s normally clear blue eyes are haunted and pained – something only her Dad can soothe.

As we turn to leave I see a car arrive next door. It’s her parents. And for a brief moment I see her face.

Her grief is etched on her countenance.

Her arms go around the couple that have just arrived and I see her shoulders tremble.

My nightmare. Played out in front of me.

My heart breaks for her and her children.

I want to help. I want to offer condolences. I want to take some of her pain. I don’t know how.

I don’t intrude. I don’t speak. I gather the kids into the car and drive away.

I try to be upbeat for the children. Keeping everything as normal as possible and letting them talk, if they want to, is priority.

As I slip between the sheets I close my eyes and see her face.

Hot tears slip between my lashes and run down my cheeks onto my pillow. More tears to go with the oceans cried for the soldiers lost and away.

God protect them.

Day 113