High Wire Act

Word comes of a man and wife who lose their lovely baby of 74 days. Wait. Read again. Not possible. Those who die must be of 74 years, not 74 days.

So we read again. Oh, no. Oh, yes, 74 days. Such a sadness. Such a sinking feeling, or more likely ... free fall into darkness, no net below.

Our hearts go out, but we wonder if we can ever do enough good, bring enough kindness, kindle enough warmth for these forlorn parents as they begin to walk a cold, cold road.

This is like a bad circus act. We thought the ropes would hold. We'd tested them, more than once. Each safety line that runs from man to wife to child to uncle to aunt to grandpa to grandma to friend to neighbor, they looked secure. We were doing great aerial feats of derring-do, we were flying high, we could soar, knowing all the ropes were in place. But someone's taken the evil villian's cartoon-character knife to a particular rope, see the close-up of each fraying thread of the mighty rope. It could go at any second.

We're waiting for them to pass us the flying swing, ready to take the leap. Once, twice, third time's the charm. We grab the glittering swing, arc up, but suddenly fall. Wait, no, this can't be happening.

We fall and fall and keep falling. But there is a safety net. The people have rushed from all sides to catch you, hold the safety net poles for you. But you won't take a quick somersault out of that net to bounce happily to your feet and floor, any time soon. You'll lie there a long time, looking up at the sky, wondering if any of the other ropes you trusted will hold. You'll test them all. Wife and friend and stranger and boss and woman in front of you in line at the store. You'll search their faces. You'll question them. You'll say the wrong things to them. They'll say the wrong things to you. You'll recall every other loss you've ever suffered, every other free fall. You'll wonder how bad you can get on the way to getting good.

And then one day, much to your surprise, you will find yourself believing that the world works. You'll find yourself standing up again, feet firmly planted on the ground, much to your amazement, ready to climb the rope ladder and perform your death-defying stunts once more.

[My condolences to the Cringley family and thanks to Chase's dad for bravely writing about this. Thanks to Doc for letting us know about this.]