SAD TIMES

We went to the funeral of a 27 year old last week. A vibrant young man with two small boys and a mom and dad who adored him. On the day he was killed, he was taking the oldest child to preschool.

It seems he wasn't paying attention. There was this intersection, see, and the truck driver wasn't paying attention either. Semi trumps pickup in almost all circumstances.

The kids weren't really hurt. They wore seat belts. but Dad was thrown from the vehicle and hit the semi with such force that the "F" from the semi grill was chisled onto the young man's forehead. He ended up under the truck--buried in grain.

He just wasn't paying attention.

The accident brought back so many memories and feelings. My son's death was no accident. He was murdered, and the murderer is in prison. Still, the result was the same as my young friend's outcome: death.

My son became trapped in the world of alcohol addiction before I realized it had happened. He withdrew from us, his grades plummeted, he forsook all his friends in favor of the "wrong crowd." A crowd he felt sure would accept him.

And I wasn't paying attention.

If only Dusty Martin had worn his seatbelt that day. If only he had slowed at the country intersection.
If only Chad had stayed away from the kind of people who use one another to feel self worth. If only I had watched more carefully and intervened sooner.

If only we all had paid attention.