Remembrance.

The sky turned on us, tried to kill us.

Stuck down there like prairie dogs.

I thought of my brother in Iraq, what he said:

After a while, you just want to die faster.

What does it mean, being dead?

Mom says it means living forever, with Jesus.

Dad says don't worry about it, dead means dead.
I hope they're both wrong.

We came out of the crawlspace and thanked God.

Even Dad. On his knees. Thanked God our foundation held.

Our roof could be repaired. Our car was still there.

We ate ribs that night and slept in our beds.

My grandparents. My cousins.

All the neighbors and the trees and everybody's dogs.

Gone.

Like my brother.

Thanks, God. I will remember them, all of them, even if You didn't.

***

what astonishes me: the pain in this boy's face