Five years ago yesterday a young boy who was a resident at Eagle Village was killed in a car accident on a transport to visit his family for the long Thanksgiving weekend. The weather today has been beautiful but then it was sleeting, cold, miserable. A newer staff was responsible for the transport and while driving a semi-truck slid across the center line and hit the vehicle carrying the resident and staff. The staff was in the hospital recovering for a long period of time and if I correctly recall he at first had no idea what had happened and it had to be explained to him over time. (This may not be completely accurate but the tragedy is correct as written)

The boy's brother was also a resident at Eagle Village. I don't recall if they were residents at the same time. The boy who died in the accident was getting prepped to be released home and this extended visit was part of that.

A blue spruce was planted in memory of this young boy who had done so well in the program but never had the opportunity to prove himself outside. The tree has done well and every year the second boy and family members visit. They don't come into the house, they don't stop to say hello. They come to visit the tree and remember. A car pulls up. Some of us recognize the family and we watch them get out of the car, walk to the tree, and sprinkle tobacco at it's base in memory of the lost brother/son/grandchild.

Today was the day they visited. Two boys had stayed back at the house from chapel with me. We were unloading supplies from the van when the family turned into the drive. The two boys with me did not know who these people were and watched them, confused a little by what they saw.

I spoke with the family briefly before they left. It was difficult for me. I cannot say that a I didn't cry a little, or that I was able to quickly and easily rattle off words of condolence. Pretty much anything I would have said would have been empty. When I approached them they were breaking up a cigarette between the three who got out of the vehicle. The woman who got out said they had just come to sprinkle tobacco around the tree. All I could say was "I'm sorry. It's very hard." She met my eyes and very earnestly answered, "Yes, it is." I let them be so they could continue their short ritual in private. When they were walking back to the car to leave I quietly spoke apologizing and letting them know I didn't want to keep them long. I asked the brother how he was doing and he said, "Some good, some bad." And then, though NOTHING could be said about their situation I said through tears, and after taking a what seemed like days to get my composure to speak, that I was so grateful to them for being able to come and wanted to assure them that what they were doing also gave the two boys with me proof that there were people who still care about others. I told the brother to be good and they thanked me, the brother gave me his phone number and asked if I would pass it on to the chaplain.

And they got in their car and drove away.

We'll probably see them again next year just before Thanksgiving. It seems at odds to have the holiday of Thanksgiving be the annual reminder of the loss of a loved one. Especially one so young. But they come every year, I'm sure grateful for the time they had.

We can never love enough, long enough.