Dear Nathan,

Six months ago today, things were plugging along – business as usual. I had a lunch meeting with a colleague to plan Staff Council tasks for the spring semester, and Lane was working noon-8pm that day. It was a Friday, and a friend had invited Jeremy over to spend the night. It was his first sleepover, in fact. I got home from work and called the mom to work out the details. The boys and I had a quick dinner, and then I took Jeremy over to his friend’s house.

Ryan was upset about Jeremy leaving, but Aidan was glad to have the Xbox all to himself for the evening. Ryan was still fussing when Lane got home. Within just a few minutes of Lane walking in the door, I got a frantic phone call from my mom saying that you’d been shot at your home but she didn’t have any other details.

The next few hours were a blurry flurry of activity. I called Jeremy’s friend’s house again to let the mom know that I’d have to come pick him up, and instead, she offered for Aidan to spend the night, also. What a relief! Of course, that made Ryan even more upset now that both brothers were leaving. I remember sitting at the gas station while Lane filled the car, and I was fighting back tears as my mind swarmed with scenarios. Ryan was crying in the backseat, and Aidan reached over to take his hand and said firmly: “Look! Uncle Nathan is hurt. Let’s pray.” And he led his little brother in a precious prayer of healing for you.

Ryan eventually fell asleep on the long drive while we listened to praise music and I cried and prayed and cried and prayed some more. I clutched my cell phone in my hand and waited for updates. I remember the longest stretch of road during the longest period of silence. I think we were somewhere between College Station and Navasota, at that point. In the back of my mind, I think I knew, but I didn’t want to believe it.

Finally, I got through to Daddy, who had gotten to the hospital before anyone else. He didn’t have to tell me, though he finally did. I could tell by his voice, the way he was avoiding my questions. Those who were at the hospital had been given strict orders not to tell anyone who was driving that you had died, for obvious reasons. I remember shaking in my seat and staring out into the black night, dumbfounded. Lane just echoed, “No no no no no no no …” and kept on driving with his fists clenched around the steering wheel.

Six months ago today, things changed.

—

I know that this letter to you is only pretend, and even if I could somehow send it to you, I wouldn’t. The Bible says clearly that there is no pain, no grief, no suffering in Heaven (Revelation 21:4). To know how much we suffered that night – and continue to mourn – would surely cause you pain, and you are too busy setting up God’s wifi to the cosmos or playing Guitar Hero with the angelic choir to worry about anything else. (Ok, so God doesn’t need wifi, and I doubt any of the GH tracks made it onto God’s ipod … but sometimes it makes me smile to imagine what you might be doing in Heaven.)

I love you. I miss you.