My mother died last Saturday...
Write back to me, please, I really hope you read this and get back to me…
I just don’t know what I’m going to do now.
For a moment, let’s pretend.
You’re a twelve-year-old boy. It’s the day after your father’s funeral. Family swarms your home. They cook for you. They clean for you. They bombard you.
That night, instead of sulking—which you REALLY want to do—you sit around a campfire with uncles and cousins. The fire blazes, and you wish you weren’t there. You wish you could be somewhere else.
That’s when you notice a cow is standing behind you, near the fence.
Someone stabs the fire with a stick, sparks shoot into the night.
You are as alone as a kid can be. Earlier that day, at your father’s visitation, you shook a lot of hands with very nice people. But these folks don’t understand you.
They can’t understand. They have normal
lives. And after your father’s service, their normal lives resume. They take off neckties and dress shoes, but your life is just beginning.
This is what you’re thinking.
But around this campfire, nobody gives you time to be alone with your thoughts. Instead, your uncle tells a story about driving to Georgia, and how the bumps on the roads almost rattled his RV into nuts and bolts.
Another uncle tells the story about when he was three, he tried to hammer a nail into his brother’s head like one of the Three Stooges.
What’s wrong with them? How can anyone make jokes at a time like this?
While they talk, you are staring at the cow near the fence, and you feel like she’s the only one who understands you. Maybe you’re losing your mind,…