Scraaaaatch....

There's nothing that will reset your barometer of 'what matters' quite as much as an event that shakes you to the core.

Since Friday morning, the son of a friend of my husband's had been missing.  Today, they found his body.

He was 16 years old.

He had type 1 diabetes, and while they've not said that had anything to do with his death, the circumstances surrounding his disappearance were so unusual, and out of the norm for this young man, that it is an easy assumption to make.  Something went haywire with his blood sugar...he wasn't thinking correctly...he tried to drive to get help...he didn't make it and got out...and whatever happened.

For two days, I've watched the details of this unfold.  The updates on facebook, mostly saying there's NO update, and asking that if ANYONE has seen or heard from him, to please let his parents or police know.  I saw the stories pop up on the local news after the first 24 hours...and the search parties come together, and the people putting up flyers...

...and tonight there is a family grieving the loss of their very beloved son.  Just 16.  The same age as my second oldest.

Diabetic, similar to my husband (granted, type 1 vs type 2).

I know - I know - I know...if he was saved, he'll be with Jesus, and out of pain, and no longer having to do shots and check blood sugar and all that.  I know that.

But my heart is broken for the mom and dad who, as of tonight, don't have to worry about grades, or messy rooms, or homework not done on time, or sports practices and games, or school fundraisers, or how many times that disgusting pair of socks have been put back on and worn again, or 'did you put on deodorant???', or any of the million things I think about regarding my kids every single day.

As my daughters go through their own struggles, and learn how to cope in our world...the very real possibility that...they could be gone...hangs ever present in my mind.

I know they are saved...each of them (except my 3 year old, but I believe she's covered)...but each has asked Jesus into their hearts, and if the worst happened, I could find peace in knowing I will see them again. But...for right now...not being able to touch them, or talk to them, or tease them, or nag them, or buy something special for lunches just because I know it would make them really, goofily happy (hello giant tub of cheese balls, I'm talking about you)....It just makes my heart stop to even think of it.

I feel sick for this mom and dad.

Once upon a time, they anxiously awaited the arrival of this baby, and then he was born, and they fell in love with the child in their arms - through spit up and sleepless nights and poopy diapers.  And they got past that, and he started walking, and a whole new phase of worry entered in.  They got them through that, and all of those things of growing up...the awkward tween years, the early teens....and he was 16...he could drive...he was tall and athletic and vibrant, and as every parent things...terribly handsome...

And his life with them is finished.

Silly, stupid high school politics just...don't even matter.

We only have thismuch time with them.  And we never know when the last 'I love you' is going to happen.