remembering

Tomorrow morning, one year ago, my little sister woke me up with the words,

"Caitlin, get up. Mr. Booth died."

My first thought was, "No way. I was just with him in Nicaragua." I figured that if everyone just went back to bed, when we woke up later in the morning we'd all realize that it was all just a dream and that he was still at home with his family, enjoying a nice meal and some pleasant laughs.

It wasn't a dream. Early that morning, he was in a helicopter that hit an electric line. An explosion occurred instantly and no passenger made it back home alive as the copter spun down to I-70, under an hour car drive from Mr. Booth's home.

And we were left with the question of why.

Since that question will never be answered here on earth, I'm just left with an ache that misses a friend--and that still grieves for the family members who are left to grapple with the pain.