As I’m snuggling on the bed with foster Travis waiting for Nanci to arrive and take him to his new family, my phone rings. My Dad informs me that my brother’s best friend’s wife died last night.
A 46 year old woman with no discernable health problems, a husband and a four year old little girl went to sleep and never woke up.
Todd and my brother have been friends since college. I remember him hanging around the house, driving this shit brown, 1970’s stingray Corvette. He was tall, gangly and sported scrubby facial hair. The car was probably the only thing that made him even slightly cool. After he and Lynette married, they bought a house in my brother’s neighborhood. Unable to have kids, they explored many avenues of adoption, and even had a birth mother change her mind at the last possible moment. Finally they were able to adopt their daughter. And less than two years ago, Todd went to work for my brother.
Todd entered the bedroom at 10:30pm and couldn’t rouse his wife. She was pronounced DOA at the hospital.
Kinda puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?