My Nephews

I hate those calls. The calls that tell you that your life or perspective on life will never be the same.

The calls that say that you will experience pain—heart pain. The calls that say you are helpless, that you are not superhuman, that you cannot change the circumstances, no matter how hard you try. That you are not in control, nor have you ever been.

I thought they only came during the middle of the night. So I was not expecting mine. I was at Macy's doing some last minute shopping before leaving on a business trip. My cell phone rang, I answered, it was my mom. What she said next made the room darken, it become smaller, and I found it hard to take a breath.

I turned around and somehow made it out to my car. My nephew had just been killed in a car accident.

My youngest nephew, the one with the cutest smile, the shy one. He was only 17 years old, there were 3 killed that day. Pain. So much pain.

Thoughts and memories became foggy after that call, I moved about robotically. Doing what was necessary to get back home. Home to California. I needed to be there, to comfort, to help—in my own helpless way.

My sister's house was full, but she saw me enter from the far side of the room and ran to me. She fell into my arms. She knew. I was there. I loved her children. I felt her pain. She knew. I would be strong for her. I would be there. I would help.

I hate those calls. 10 months later. Another call. Another nephew. Same mother. I hate those calls.

I will always remember where I was. What I was doing at the time. And how I had no control.

Helpless. Sad. All I could do was pray. Crying out to God—help me God, help me help her.