119 Hours

How many times have we gone to bed on a Sunday night, turned out the lights on the weekend, and fell asleep with expectations of the week ahead? Hopefully many more than times with dread. What kind of life would it be if we couldn't look to the future with anticipation of joy and good times? We live in a place where anything good can come tomorrow and tragedy isn't lurking outside our doors. And yet, we don't know where we will be come Friday night.

Eleven years ago, about right now, Aaron's friends had just walked with him out of St. Albert The Great Church in Sun Prairie one last time. Eight or ten young adult high school seniors held the handles made for six. Many dozen more young people gathered around, and moved to the doors. Maybe one day I'll forget the closing of the door. The slow drive away; brake lights in the dusk, and the white Cadillac making a right turn at the corner. The driver knew where he was going. I couldn't say the same for myself.

 One hundred and nineteen hours earlier I said good night to my sons. That was the last time I saw Aaron. When the car was gone I turned to the west to see Patrick and the friends. Behind them was the red hue the sun had left to prove she was here. (As I finished this, it occurred to me that 119 could be seen as 29...there it is again. Goodnight two nine.)

From a letter written by his Mentor Kori, this is a list made by Aaron's friends at Mt. Bachelor Academy:

THE GIFTS OF AARON
May 2005
The gifts of Aaron...
Joyful spirit,
Jamaican soul,
Wisdom of the ages,
Gentle kindness,
Smiling eyes,
Warm hugs.
A peaceful warrior,
Bridge-builder,
Dreamer,
Mountain climber,
Child of the universe...and
Friend.
May the gifts of Aaron live on in each of us.