Team Testosterone had buddies sleep over last night--only one ended up heading home (thankfully at the civilized hour of 11:00 p.m., shortly before Jay Cutler finished defeating Brett Favre--poor old man quarterback couldn't handle the cold). A brave little 6-year-old, he wasn't quite ready for a full night commitment. I've met his type before, but he'll end up okay, he's young still. Mr. G was already unconscious and snoring in his sleeping bag and awoke this morning searching for his friend. He seems okay with only having half a sleep over.
In the midst of the drop off yesterday afternoon, the phone rang. Our favorite babysitter who started college last year--a responsible, lovely girl who took excellent care of Team Testosterone for years. I thought it was a social call--to set up a visit to our family while home on break. She called to tell me her dad died. They were up north and he and her sister were in a Gator driving across the lake. The Gator went through the ice. Her dad kicked through the window and pushed her sister to safety. She pulled him out of the water, but he died at the hospital.
He was a kind man who took his grandson fishing and doted on his kids. He brought my sons to the car races one night and spoiled them silly. My heart breaks for this family, a wife who adored him, daughters who realized what a great dad they'd landed. That cottage Up North where they spent many happy weekends is now a place of such horrible sadness. Christmas will always carry the taint of losing him.
Sometimes a person dies and you know their family will be okay, there's enough glue to hold the rest together. Sometimes you worry there's not enough glue.