That Wednesday was like any other Wednesday - school, work, youth group, assignments. But I do recall seeing on the way home something out of the ordinary. As I pulled to a stop where Mohr Road hits St. Joseph Avenue, I saw coming over the hill two medics (ambulances). Proceeding through the intersection, I noticed that they both took a right turn on St. Joe and headed south toward a hill. What I didn't know was that a horrific event had happened just on the other side of that hill only hours earlier. My older brother, Michael, had told me after I got home that something had happened, but he didn't know any details. Yesterday, however, the news came to me that a firefighter died in an accident only two blocks away from the McCutchanville Fire Department, the truck's home station.
Having completely forgotten about any travesty, I hopped in my car this morning to take my normal path to the CEF office. En route I saw a new utility pole. I saw deep ruts in the side of the road. Then I remembered. Oh, yes, there were a bunch of people here yesterday. The traffic was down to one lane, Vectren was here, firefighters were here. After I arrived at the office, I saw the headline in the Evansville Courier and Press:
"Colleagues, family and friends mourn McCutchanville firefighter Jeremy R. Tighe"
"That happened right next to my house," I told my managers as I skimmed through the article. And then, "Oh my." In my mind: Lord, have mercy. In my hands I wasn't holding just any newspaper article. I was holding a picture of one of my friends, or acquaintances rather, who had her hands on her head and a distraught look on her face - that look that says: How in the world could this have happened?
When I realized that the loss was to a person I've met and had a few conversations with, the emotional dynamic totally changed. In somewhat of a brokenness, I revealed, "I think I know this person." The horrifying thought of that terrible loss lingered in my mind the whole morning. On my way home, there was yet another reminder of the event. A group of people stood huddled in the February wind next to the place where Jeremy Tighe's memorial lay. I pulled over. I stopped. Hesitantly I unbuckled my seat-belt and opened my door. Through the soaked, muddy grass roadside I climbed that hill on St. Joseph - the same hill on which Timothy Wharton, who was 17 years old at the time, died. Wharton was killed in a crash involving drugs; whenever I see the cross with his picture on it, I am reminded of when I saw the ambulances and police on site. But Tighe's death will have a different effect on me; it already has. From this day forward, I will be reminded continually of Wednesday, Febraury 22, 2012. I'll remember seeing that picture in the paper and visiting the place of the accident.
And hopefully, as was the case today, I will remember that life is mortal and difficult. But God is good, no matter what happens. It ponders me, in times of shock, to think that an all-powerful hand would allow something so heart-breaking, but I know that it is all for His eternal plan. It's all for His purpose, His praise, His glory, His Son, and Himself. When difficulty strikes, we ask "Why?" and look at what the thief has taken. But may we always remember to see what God has left behind as an act of mercy, and may we have faith, the full conviction that He is faithful.
Hmm. Tuesday, the 21st, an 18 year old senior in our town died in a bizzare car accident. Driving safely with a friend, a tire blew, and he got shot partially through the windshield. So sudden. Most of the kids in my Youth Group Wednesday knew him. And to think this stuff happens everday.
ReplyDeleteYour right - it really is a matter of how you look at it. As terrible as it is, when it hits home, who will you look at?
Thanks for sharing.
Sincerely in Christ,
Michaela <><