Dismantle the Sun

A few houses up the street, there is a home filled with unbearable silence.

My neighbors were in the process of moving from Colorado to California. Larry had been at a new job there for just a week. Michelle and their son, Alex, had just returned here from visiting him. They were looking for a new home, trying to find a neighborhood that reminded them of Woodland Park.

Alex got sick on the trip. He contracted pneumonia, and just ... died.

He was three. Just a few months older than Kai.

I don't know how you recover from something like that. I don't know how you can get out of bed, and put your feet on the floor. How you can stand up. How you can breathe.

I told Michelle that I was sorry. That I knew there was nothing anyone could do. That I just wanted her to know that I was thinking about her. And I hugged her for a long time.

I took some fruit, and some fresh pastries from the Farmer's Market. Michelle told me she wanted to go to the market this morning, but just couldn't. I imagine there will be many things that she just can't do for a very long time.

We talked about their move, and what they'll do with the house here. And the list of things that Michelle is doing to get ready to leave. And we both cried.

I didn't know Michelle very well, or her son. I pray that I will never fully understand the kind of pain that she is going through right now.

Back home, the birds are singing and the wind is blowing through the aspens. I am trying, unsuccessfully, to get some work done. And anticipating the stomping on the stairs that will end the silence, so much more peaceful here than it is up the street.