I recently lost someone dear to me, a family friend whom I've known for many years. Roy and Gloria lived in mid-Missouri, where I grew up, and have been my parents' closest friends for more than 15 years. They came to my wedding. When I was pregnant with my daughter, Gloria drove with my mother 1100 miles across the the country to where I was living at the time, to bring me a cradle and my old baby clothes. Every time I return to Missouri to see my parents, we also got together with Roy and Gloria, and that included Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners. Roy spent hours deep in discussion with my husband on a range of philosophical and political topics. When my father was having surgery to remove a cancerous growth on his esophagus, Roy and Gloria sat vigil with my mother during that hours-long surgery. Roy just emailed my mother a couple of weeks ago to ask if he should set aside an old pair of cross-country skis that had belonged to his son Adam as a young child. He thought that my daughter, growing up here in Minnesota, might like to have skis.

Roy and Gloria were in a terrible car accident early last Monday. A 22-year-old college student on his way to class had an apparent moment of inattention and crossed the center line on a sharp curve, hitting their car head-on. Roy was killed instantly, and Gloria is still in the ICU, with punctured lungs many broken bones. She doesn't yet know her husband of 33 years is dead. The young man walked away from the accident.

My first response was to think "how dare that kid have gotten behind the wheel? How dare he have crossed the center line?" and even "how dare he survive without injuries when Roy is now dead, and Gloria faces a minimum of 6 months in rehabilitation?" I'm not a generous enough soul to feel forgiving. At least not yet.

I drove down to Missouri to support my parents through all this. I knew they were strong enough to get through the loss of one friend, but we didn't know yet if Gloria would make it, and I knew I had to be there if they both died. By the time I arrived, Gloria was out of the woods. But having me there was a relief to their son Adam, who is like a little brother to me. He had been worried about my parents.

I saw Gloria in the ICU. I won't say much about the experience, other than to say that folks in the ICU aren't at their best. I held her hand, and talked to her, hoping that the sound of my voice was soothing to her. No one talks about Roy in her presence - we don't know what she can and cannot hear.

It was in the ICU waiting room that I talked to Roy's brother. He told my mother and me of his worry about the kid who had hit his brother and sister-in-law. Evidently the boy was horrified, shocked, and suffering no small amount of guilt. Rumor had it he was talking about dropping out of school, and perhaps even killing himself. I grew up in a small town, similar in size to Jordan - so rumors spread quickly. Roy's brother couldn't bring himself to talk to the kid directly, but he contacted the chaplain and counselors at the school the kid attends, and told them to talk to the boy and tell him TO STAY IN SCHOOL.

I was struck by the sheer goodness in Roy's brother. He was mired in his own grief over the loss of his younger brother, and worry over his sister-in-law, yet he also worried about the boy who caused the accident, and took steps to try and protect him. "It was an accident," he said. "That boy will live the rest of his life knowing what he did killed someone." I felt my less-generous soul open up, and share his worry.