Monday, May 7, 2007


I still read news from home most days. I noticed a name from my past today, the little brother of a long ago friend, someone I haven't seen for years. I drew breath sharply, hand to my mouth, when I read it. A car lost control and rolled near my parents' home; it was fatal. I called Daddy right away, there's no answer; then Mama at work, but she didn't pick up her classroom phone.

In my mind's eye is an image of a small dark-haired boy with glasses. He was sweet and quiet, much younger, really just a child. But that was more than twenty years ago. I am confident I saw him grown but for the life of me cannot bring adult features into focus. I keep seeing the little boy.

Daddy calls and I tell him. They didn't know and it surprises me. It was hard to tell him over the phone, more difficult than I anticipated. The bulk of the conversation is spent on deciding who will phone my little brother. Daddy will make the call and I know it is to spare me the trouble and the emotion. Regardless of my age, I am still his child.

That face in my memory was someone's child, I think. And I know them. Only then do I begin to cry.


Anonymous said...

Not sure why this popped up today. I've read it a thousand times and never thought to comment before. I just wanted to say thanks, Kim. Your words were so sweet and appreciate them as much today as I did nine and a half years ago.

Thanks so much,