My company’s main office is in Boston.
Here in Colorado we spent the afternoon glancing out our office windows at the steady snow , whispering snippets of updates between cubes as we got off calls with our colleagues out East that suddenly became much less about spreadsheets and strategies and much more a chance to reach out and touch base and offer care and concern.
Then we each drifted out into the snow, to dig cars out of a heavier-than-expected spring storm and travel through the whiteout to get ourselves and our families home safely together.
To linger over bedtime stories, smashing faces into tiny heads of hair, grasping and hugging and clinging to the warm, sweet, perfect little pieces of the future we hold dearer than our own souls.
To sit closer to spouses or friends than we usually bother, to reach out on the phone, to text a check-in, or an “I love you.”
To connect.
Because once again, we know that there are those who cannot tonight.
Who will live with divided hearts, partly now in heaven, lost for a home, hurting and searching and broken.
Words so completely fail.
I need a new one, a stronger one, an angrier one, for “Why?”
Reluctantly Suburban 