The GPS said it was only six hours home this time. That’s a good 30 minutes faster than the way there. But it didn’t feel that way.
I cried quite a few times.
At one point the rain was so bad I had to pull over and wait it out a few minutes. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Rachael, pissed off somewhere. I’m not even religious.
There was a moment at my sister’s house yesterday that I won’t ever forget. We were all sitting in the living room attempting to make small talk while the morticians retrieved Rachael from the bedroom.
When they emerged, loaded her onto the stretcher in the living room, and zipped her up, we all fell quiet. As the door closed behind them all you could hear was the rain on the rooftop and everyone in the room, one by one, begin to cry.
I tried my best to hold it in. I think we all were. I think we were trying to hold it together for her two little girls. Right then, her oldest, Cherith, walked across the room and sat down on the couch next to me and cuddle up.
There were nine of us sitting in that living room, but it felt empty. Not physically, but void of energy.
It was an odd moment because I’d felt like I had accepted she was gone. But it seems like every time you feel that way there’s something new that triggers a deeper form of mourning.
I can’t imagine how my parents feel. I can’t imagine how Caleb feels.
I hope I never have to.