PB&J and Men in Black

3. Posted May 24, 2020, From Forgiveness to Friendship

Coming Home. At the end of the previous post of this story written on May 9th, I wished my daughter Anna a happy birthday and left for work. Now, I was zipping home from work to be on time to take ten-year old granddaughter, Kadah, to dance class. Anna could not drive due to slight seizure activity in her brain, so my husband and I often chauffeured her and her girls whenever we could. Anna was a stickler for routine and being on time (which, to her, meant slightly early), and I wanted to honor that. Arriving home shortly after 5 p.m., I dashed inside calling out, “I’m here! We can go!”

I expected to hear The Disney Channel from the living room television and the clatter of computer keys from upstairs, but the house was quiet. I quickly checked the kitchen clock to be sure I wasn’t late, then dashed to the foot of the stairs and called, “Anna, I’m home-we can go!” Nothing. Humph; that’s odd, I thought.

Peanut Butter Sandwich. I sent her a quick text and waited for her reply. Hungry for a snack knowing dinner would be later than usual, I slapped together a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich after calling to leave her a voice message. I had no premonition that anything might be wrong as Anna was quite independent. When I did not hear back from her, I assumed she thought I might be late and asked our next door neighbor for a ride to the park district building, only a six-minute drive away. I grabbed my sandwich and plopped down on the couch about 5:30 to unwind and watch a game show having no idea our dear daughter was already gone. Her body was in the coroner’s vehicle at the hospital, and he was on his way to our house with a deputy sheriff to tell us.

Two Men in Black. I was still wearing my jacket when I heard a knock. I clicked off the TV remote and through the side panel window next to the front door, I could partially see a gentleman in a black shirt and black pants. I found that curious. When I opened the door, there were two men in black. They sort of looked like police officers, but were not dressed like the Hollywood kind. I could not see their marked vehicle because our front door did not face the parking lot of our townhouse condo court. I thought maybe they were fund-raising. The gentleman nearest me asked, “Does Anna Harvey live here?”

“Yes, she does, but I’m her mother, the homeowner; she lives with us.” There was an awkward pause when he said nothing in reply. I still had no bad vibe that anything was amiss, so I finally broke the silence and asked, “May I help you?”

The News. The gentleman closest to me, who turned out to be the coroner, asked if they could come in. Not suspecting any harm, even though I did not yet know who they were, I stepped back and let them in. The coroner invited me to sit down in the living room. I thought this was odd that they were inviting me to sit down in my own home. I let the two men sit on the couch while I grabbed a dining room chair and sat facing them. The coroner asked again about my identity, but when I offered to show him my driver’s license, he said it would not be necessary. It seemed awkward at the time, but later, I realized he wanted to be sure he was about to give the news he had to the right person.

Without any introduction to who they were, the coroner, sitting directly opposite me, looked me straight in the eye with poise and a quiet calm and simply stated, “Your daughter was riding her bike on Highway 45 and was hit by a car and killed.”

Find out next week what happened then. How did I react? What did I do? Where were the girls? It’s not what you might think. As I mentioned 2 weeks ago in the May 9th post, this is a happy ending story, but as is often the case, there is a valley before there is a mountaintop. I hope you will join me again and follow this story to see what great things God did through all this.

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