I was happy today to awake and be able to have several cups of coffee without being interrupted with unpleasant things such as removing carcasses from our swimming pool. And things progressed on a positive note all day until my oldest daughter, who has been serving as a juror, arrived and flopped herself in my office chair as I sat at the desk. Knowing that she can’t discuss the case, but concerned that something about it might have her troubled, I inquired, “How’s jury duty going?”
She said it was fine but then told me that she was upset due to news about an incident that occurred a mile from our house. At the time of sharing with me, she didn’t have, nor had all the facts been released. But what she did know I found disturbing.
A body, burned beyond recognition, had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning when a small brush fire alongside the freeway had been extinguished by the local fire department. As bits and pieces of the mystery fell into place, we learned that the body had been so badly burned, that officials couldn’t originally identify if it was male or female.
Good lord!
Later on, it was released that the body was that of a twenty-year-old female.
That struck a chord with my twenty-one-year old daughter.
Officials suspect that the death might be a drug-related murder.
Holy crap!
And the most disturbing news was that the brush fire had been so minor as to have not caused the disfiguring burns to the body.
Don’t even want to think about those implications.
And then, just as we were trying to come to terms with that, my daughter discovered that a traffic pursuit, involving a stolen car, had just taken place, again, a mile from our home. That ended with the chased car running a red light and being hit by a delivery truck. The driver of the vehicle fled the scene on foot and was subsequently caught. Once under detainment, it was learned that he was a sought-after fugitive.
Dandy!
And all this is happing a mile from my house in my sleepy little bedroom community that is supposed to be safe.
What the hell’s in the air?
Just before leaving my writing critique meeting this evening, I received a text from my oldest daughter, begging me to please come home—soon. That she didn’t want to be at the house alone any longer what with all that had been happening. I immediately dialed her phone. I told her I was already in route and would be home in less than ten minutes. Hearing my voice, she relaxed, and I continued to stay on the phone with her until I pulled in the driveway.
Since I’ve been home from my critique meeting, I’ve spent needed time with my oldest daughter and youngest son in an attempt to build them up from today’s troubling events. We’ve baked cookies and hung out together. That’s helped to wash away the icky remnants of all that’s happened.
Hopefully, if I’ve done my job correctly, my oldest daughter will head to jury duty tomorrow able to focus on that task, and my youngest son won’t be freaked out. How does this affect me, here alone with the kids while my husband’s in Europe? Well, I’ll do what I always do—carry on with a smile and a determination to make things easier for my children.
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