How do we sleep when our beds are burning…
One of my favorite songs from the 80s. But now it has a meaning. My bed is burning. I still can hardly sleep soundly. But I wish every night Zane would walk in my dreams, if I even dream at all. I haven’t seen him in a while. Just like I haven’t seen him alive in seven months. Seven.
216 days. Seven months. At 5pm today it was 5,184 hours since he’s been gone. 311,040 minutes. Fathom that. Torture. That’s a lot of time for a bed to be burning.
As “tradition” on the 26th for the last 7 months we have gone out to the cemetery, Zane’s home. This evening Angie and Jamie were there taking care of Temo’s home. Since Zane and Temo are not very far apart we went to say hello. Another bittersweet moment, not a place you want to run into another mom.
With the recent event in Florida, gun control has been all over the news and on so many tongues. I personally do not have an opinion that sways one way or the other because I try not to get into the debate. The word ‘gun’ flying around has been nerve wracking. I once upon a time was a Texas girl who liked to target shoot and was planning on getting my CHL…not so much ever again. Now the word makes me cringe. No, the object did not choose to take my son’s life, it’s just the thought now is beyond measure.
What is considered a second chance? Someone who survives a car accident? Who beats cancer? Someone who finds true love after a divorce? Or after their home burns down gets a brand new home built?
Why wasn’t Zane given a second chance? And no one can say THIS was his second chance because it was NOT. No second chance when the bed is still burning after seven months.