Almost

"Hi baby, what's up?"
"Not much, you?"
"Driving home."
"Do you want the bad news? Or do you want to wait?"
Thinking it had something to do with the fact that my husband hadn't finished packing for the move, I breathed out slowly. "Ok, give me the bad news."
"Nelson was killed in Iraq."
"What?"
"Nelson."
"What? No."
He's silent on the other end of the phone.
"No! That's not possible."
"He was killed in battle."
"NO! It's not possible."

It couldn't be true. Not Nelson. Not sweet, smiling Nelson. So polite. So damn smart. An incredible young man. My former student - one of the ones who helped me remember on a daily basis why I loved teaching high school.

I didn't believe it. The tears that came weren't real because it couldn't be happening.

I hung up with my husband. I called Bettina.

"I have some terrible news."

My voice broke. Her disbelief washed over us like the second tidal wave in a suddenly stormy sea.

We know that too many of our students meet unfortunate ends. Death shouldn't steal their hopes, our hopes for them. But it does. And now one of the finest young men I have ever met has been killed?

Bettina and I try to reconcile the news with reality - what should be versus what is. For 20 minutes, we tumble through stories, recount our daily lives, try to cling to scraps of hope.

"Kevin's calling me on the other line. Maybe he knows more. I'll call you back."

I pick up the line.

"It was a mistake. He's ok. I don't know the full story yet, only that he's coming home. He wasn't killed."

The tears that come from relief feel nothing like the hopeless ones of only moments ago. Reality turns real again. In that split second, I can almost understand what a second chance truly feels like. I can almost understand what a mother must feel when finding out her own is still breathing, even if slightly scarred. I can almost understand why belief in a god is necessary.

Almost. Thank God.