A local woman died on Black Friday.
She was young, only 36. I didn’t know her personally, but I
had seen her at church. She sang in the choir, did solos sometimes. She had a
beautiful voice and joyful countenance. She seemed kind and friendly—facts reiterated
in numerous Facebook posts and news websites.
And I thought…I thought what we all think when tragedy
strikes. That could have been me, my husband, or my niece who is that age. The
circumstances of her death were so commonplace—we’ve all been stuck in a back
up on the expressway. The ones that make you nervous—being that last car in the
blind spot after an overpass—you know the feeling.
I don’t travel it often, but I know the section of highway
where she died. It’s on the edge of town—that place where you breathe a sigh of
relief because you’ve crossed the final out-of-town overpass. You’re back in
the familiar; the long trip is nearly finished—ten miles from home.
Think about it.
