the club no one wants to join

our friends allie and kevin are expecting their (first) little baby girl sometime next month. and so i recently mentioned to allie how poignant i found it that they are about to welcome their little girl into the world just as we are letting ours go. it seems so cliche to say that it seems like only yesterday, but of course that is exactly how it seems. and so off to boston we went last week to get our aly moved in to her dorm.

there was a flurry of activity in the week leading up to move-in day. i felt anxious, but hadn't yet cried (about *that*, anyway). even jacko had shed tears, holding his baby girl tight the night before she and i headed north. aly was comforting him and he was softly telling her "i'm just going to miss you so much". it was heartwarming and beautiful and the kind of fatherly love that every child should know. and the bittersweet feelings - overwhelming pride, a touch of sadness, joy and a bit of emptiness - that every parent should know.

emmett and jack would come to join us in boston the following weekend, but first aly and i did a tour of new england with stops in NY, CT, RI, and finally MA. we visited family and friends along the way and had some good mom/daughter time roadtripping between. as move-in day got closer, more than once aly mentioned her surprise that i had not broken down yet. i'd respond, with all the sincerity and love that any good mother could muster, by saying "but there's still a whole week for you to drive me crazy!" (likewise, i am sure).

but inside i, too, was surprised. i mean, it's not just that aly was moving away and would be greatly missed, but our relationship was about to be redefined and we were about to pass from one major life phase (child-rearing) to another (parents-of-adult-children) - there is no turning back - in many ways, our job is done. or at least it is changing. in the aftermath of the fire, all of these musings and introspection have intensified for me.

so i admit i was a little edgy the day or two before move-in, but still - no tears. and since i have very little control over when and where the deluge comes, i started to wonder when it might hit. ah, gee, i hope it wouldn't come when we were moving her in. *that* would be embarassing. but that time came and went with smiles and laughter and only a few snips. that night and the next jack, emmett, and i stayed in a hotel in boston - so maybe the tears would come when we actually said our goodbyes to aly before flying home. but we pulled that off too, with big hugs and kisses and smiles. i figured then that the logical point would be when we boarded the plane for the flight home. nope. how about when we walked into the empty house back in austin? wrong again. so i finally gave up and accepted that it would come whenever it needed to.

it's been a week now and while i miss her like crazy, and the house seems artificially, unnaturally quiet, i had not cried.

on saturday, i got a call from anna, my HR director. she said she hated to bother me on a weekend but had i seen the news about the gas explosion in san bruno, california? yes, i was peripherally aware. it turns out that a fellow employee, who i do not know, lived two houses from the one that exploded. his burnt to the ground - and knowing that we are all too familiar with what that feels like she wanted to know what could they do, what should they do, to help. i immediately jumped back to christmas day. the basics, i told her: do they have shelter? do they have clothes? do they have access to money? i also advised that as his employer, they could do him a great service by simply saying "don't worry about work, we've got your back". free him from worrying about his job, on top of everything else. have IT set his voicemail and out-of-office mail for him, ask him if he has anything urgent that is pending, and just remove it from his plate. that would be such a relief.

it was pretty easy to envision what the next 9 months will be like for this colleague and his family, because we have been living it.

it's complicated, she said. this other employee - he has a name, james - thankfully, james and his older daughter were not home at the time of the explosion. but james' wife and younger child were now missing, and presumed not to have survived.

oh my god oh my god oh my god. all of a sudden this is entirely different than the tragedy that we faced back on christmas day. a completely different scale, and my worst fear (and subject of my PTSD anxiety) realized. i suddenly feel completely ill-prepared and unqualified to presume to know what james and his daughter need. everything we have been through, the complete upside-downing of our world, the total disconnect from the life we lived just hours before - seems miniscule compared to a sudden, shocking, tragic loss of life. and james going through everything we went through without the support of his spouse, and in shock from the devastating loss, and trying to still be a father/protector/provider for his other child. it will take herculean strength.

the tears came then - as a parent, as a spouse, as a human - for the loss, for the pain, for the loneliness. for the bad things that happen over which we have no control. the unfair things. the random things. i had to apologize to anna and take a moment to try and compose myself. it was futile. now she was apologizing, feeling as though she has brought this all back to the forefront for me. i assured her that it's never really in the background.

and really, where i end up is here: we are so lucky. we are so blessed. we are so fortunate. we lost only our *things*. we have everything right here (or, at least, 1500 miles away). this thought is pervasive in my mind: but for a moment, there might have been no reason to make that recent trip to boston. also: jack went back into the house to get our pup, something you're never ever supposed to do. what if what if what if.

i'm not religious, but i have been praying for james' family. mostly, for a miracle. a big one. but beyond that, for strength. for the tidal wave of compassion and generosity that has overwhelmed us. and for a sliver of normalcy to come back to them as they navigate these trecherous and unwelcome seas.

every. day. is. a. gift.