There's a high school band concert tonight. The 10th graders are dedicating their portion of the concert to Mark.
This should have been one of those days when I rush around making sure everything is in order and everyone gets where they need to go--band uniform pieces all present and accounted for, dinner served early, get Mark to the high school early, run to the junior high for a quick meeting, back to the high school for the concert.
I'm not at the high school band concert. I'm here at home crying, crying as hard as I did the day he died, asking questions with no answers.
Mark was buried in his band uniform pants because they were the only dress pants he had that fit. I never did hem them.
This is only the beginning. What am I going to do on the night the class of 2017 graduates?