11/26/2013

   Another source of almost unbelievable comfort was very unexpected, at least by me. Some good friends of ours from the high school band boosters group were members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Just days after the accident two of their missionaries showed up at our front door offering to help us in any way they could. We made it clear that while we appreciated their offer, we had no interest in converting to their faith, that we had our own beliefs and had no intention of changing. They, in turn, made it clear that that was not the intent of their presence. They only wanted to help ease our burden by helping out in whatever way we needed them to. They offered to mow our lawn, wash our cars, go to the market, clean up after our dog, listen to our grief, pray for us, etc. They came back to our house many times over those first few weeks when our pain threatened to overwhelm us. I really don't remember exactly what they actually did for us, but I do remember how comforting I found their presence. I came to believe that they had been sent to us by God to help us through those first horrible days. One thing in particular that they said to us during one of those visits has stuck with us through the years. My wife was saying how unfair it was that we would not get the chance to finish raising Curtis, how much it hurt to lose him before we saw him grow to manhood. One of the Mormon missionaries explained to us that it's part of their belief system that families are reunited in the afterlife and that we would indeed have the chance to finish raising our son. I'm not sure how that would work exactly, but the thought brought us a great deal of comfort and hope that maybe in heaven we would still be able to finish our job as parents. I know some people would scoff at such a notion, but for me it was the promise of a future where I would not just be reunited with my son, but I would be given the gift of being able to finish the job I felt had been cruelly cut short-the job of being Curtis's father.