The death of a girl and the pain that spreads, but is also shared

I was walking out of the grocery when I saw him standing by the door, a uniformed officer observing customers. I walked over. In the newspapers the last two days was a story about a search for a missing little girl. The remains had been found in the morning.

“Hi. Were you in the search?”

“Yeah.”

“I worked with a department for a few years; use to talk to fellows afterwards.”

“Been thinking about it all day.”

“Yeah. I write a blog now about post-traumatic stuff.”

“Guy ought to be hung.”

“Trouble is you remember that, too.”

Annelie had finished at the checkout counter and was walking to the door. I turn away. It was just guy talk, or some people may hear it that way.

When I got home I checked the stats on the blog. There was a new hit, from Senegal. You have to have a computer, read English, and the motivation to search for “post-traumatic stress” on the web. Annelie went to the map on the wall in the kitchen; I went to the internet. We were both right. 

If you are the kind of person who prays, you can join me in remembering the folks that serve in hard duty places.