It was a cold night that night in December. That is, there was enough of a nip that when I went jogging after church I wished I had put on pants instead of shorts. The fog was so thick I felt like I was running through a cool mist humidifier. But as I ran the street lights illumined the fog which made the whole street look like it was lined with golden bursts of light. I had finals on my mind which were the following week as well as my visit earlier in the day with friends. Christmas was two weeks away and college just around the corner. I was completely self absorbed in my own teenage soon-to-be-on-my-own world.

And then I saw his Suburban approach. I jogged part way across the road to meet him but something was wrong, he wasn't slowing down. I stopped mid road as the head lights in the fog made the whole vehicle glow like it was Elijah's chariot when I saw the stranger's face through the window. He looked at me but I saw nothing. All of time stood still. It was supposed to be him and everything would be OK. But it wasn't him.

He was supposed to be home hours before. He had missed church completely. The rest of the night comes in flashes. After returning home from my run my step mom was tucking my little brother into his makeshift bed on the couch where he had taken to sleeping and I showered and was on the phone with my mom while trying to do home work. Then the mother of my dad's law partner (he was also in the plane that night) called frantically asking what kind of plane they flew because there were reports of a small aircraft crashing near the airport. It's funny because I'm a worrier. Big time. But the strangest thing about that night is that, despite my moment of panic while running, I remember rolling my eyes as I asked my step mom to confirm the type of plane and then quickly got back to my conversation with my mom as if nothing was happening. And I remember seriously being blinded to it. Talk about the Lord's protective hand.

About an hour later my little sister burst through the door and announced "Dad's plane went down." I looked up from my spot on my bed and said, "What do you mean it went down?" She said, "I don't know but Mom is crying."

I don't remember the run across the house. I just appeared in their room to see her holding the phone with both hands like it might run away. She was crying and asking questions. I don't remember what. I remember standing in the middle of the room not thinking not moving not exisiting.

I heard a commotion at the front door and my step mom told me to answer it. As I left her bedroom I was intercepted by my Pastor and my Dad's best friend. I don't remember what they said or if they said anything. We went back into the bedroom and I don't know what happened next. But the next thing I knew they were gone and I was left at home with my little sister and little brother and my Pastor's wife.

I made some phone calls, to my sister in college to tell her to come and to my God parents. Then the phone started ringing. Would you believe reporters were calling to see if it was true that his plane crashed? Reporters, calling the possible dead man's HOUSE. My Pastor's wife was kind enough to answer it and kindly tell them to get lost. After awhile I couldn't take it anymore and answered once. I don't remember exactly what I said to him but I was not nice and no one called after that.

Then I cleaned. I always clean when I'm under a lot of stress or scared. I cleaned like mad so when he came home he would be proud. A friend came over to support me and we all waited. And waited. I had to keep calling my step mom for updates. Sometimes she answered sometimes she didn't as she waited and tried to get answers. My sister arrived but also went to the airport. My little sister was in bed and my little brother had been moved to my bed for more quiet. I was up and feeling so alone. And even though I was grateful for her, I was angry my Pastor's wife had been left with me while everyone else was at the airport.  I knew my little siblings needed sleep and I needed to watch them but what if they found him and he was just hanging on to life and I didn't get to say goodbye?

The search got called off. It was too foggy and search crews were getting lost in the muck of the woods. My step mom came home for a couple hrs rest and I went and wrapped myself around my baby brother to try and shield him from the reality to come.

I heard a commotion and went into the living room as my step mom was preparing to go back to the airport. She was gone and I stood there trying to figure out what to do. A neighbor knocked on the door and gave me a huge basket of muffins. I still don't know how she knew. My little brother woke up or maybe he had already been up and I gave him breakfast and then I don't remember why but I jogged down the street to the neighbor's house to tell her something. I have no idea what.

My memory gets really foggy after that. I remember people all day, random church members, coming and just staying. The house filled up. I remember making sure my brother was fed but I don't remember seeing my little sister much. I remember being angry the TV was broken so I couldn't watch the news coverage and I remember finally finding a small one that worked. We watched as they searched and flew helicopters over the woods and I tried to get updates from my step mom. Then someone came over and turned off the TV. I was told I wasn't allowed to watch it anymore. And then I waited. Alone. That is, surrounded by people who weren't family as I worried about my little siblings and how it was effecting them that all these people were there and our family wasn't. I knew they had to be at the airport but I wished with all my might that we were all there together, finding out whatever it was together.

I went outside for some air and thought about putting my siblings in the car and leaving. And then someone came over and told me to go wait in my parents' room that my step mom was on her way home. I remember thinking even then that he was alive but really injured and it was going to be a long way to recovery. I sat on the bed with my siblings and my step mom finally got home and came in. She had her hands together and over her nose and mouth as she walked in and I don't remember what she said but something short like, "he's gone" I don't remember much after that other than my step mom ushering my little siblings out because I was, well, losing it. I remember punching my pastor in the stomach. When I finally left the room and went outside every church member was in a circle in our front yard holding hands and praying. I didn't join them but walked away to a small pocket of my friends.

The days following are a terrible blur of funeral planning, my step mom being gone dealing with my Dad's law firm, fights with my mother, the memorial service we had to have because they wouldn't release his body to us and finally the funeral. I also remember going to the crash site to dig around for personal items of his. We found small pieces of their bodies and his pen and his cross necklace.

Too many years later I sat in church tonight just like I did that night listening to the sermon in the moment that he flew home to heaven while I sat unaware. And tonight I wasn't smiling, I wasn't feeling joy in his or my salvation. I was just raw and angry and missing him and hating HATING sin and death and brokenness and it's effect even today on my family.

Abide with us Lord for it is toward evening and the day is far spent. Come soon Lord Jesus.