You Never Know

A festival brought thousands into my hometown.  The main road through town closed and hot rods of every make and color lined their way up and down the street.  Folks passionate about their cars, and restoring history, showcased their hard work for everyone to see.

My husband Dennis was wiping down our friend Dan's 1949 Chevy pick up truck which he had driven to the festival.  I make my way over to find the guys sitting in the camp chairs, chiding each other like all car guys do.

The band played in the background and played some of my favorite songs.  It was easy to sing along.  Talking with the guys about everything and nothing; Kevin made his way over to say hello.

The talk was light and we talked of his beautiful red 1967 GT 500 Mustang parked with the hood up.  We watched as others admired his car.

"It's been 3 years since I've taken that car out." He tells me.
 "You need to change that.  Toys are meant to be played with." 
I smile.  
He smiles.

"My brother committed suicide 4 months ago."
 
In an instant, we had dove into the deep end of the pool.  Truth be told, he was probably just as surprised at saying it as I was at hearing it.

"Oh Kevin, I am so sorry.  I am so, so sorry."
"Yea.  It's fine.  I'm over it."
"No you're not."
"You're probably right.  I yelled at everyone in the office the other day."
"That's grief," I say.
"My wife said the exact same thing."

He recounts the time leading up to the day his brother took his life.  He shares details, worries; concerns.  I listen. 

"I had no idea he was struggling." He turns and looks at me, "I just didn't know."

"You're a man and you are wired to fix things.  If I could be so bold as to guess, I would guess your biggest struggle with your brother's death is you can't fix it.  You didn't know what led to what he did. Now, because he's gone, you'll never know.  You can't fix it and that difficulty is overwhelming."
He nods.  
He studies the people around us.  "Sometimes you just never know."

"Yea, sometimes you just never know."  I share my own story.  I share losing mom to cancer and dad to a car accident within a year of each other; both at Christmas.  I share how the doctors didn't know what caused dad to lose consciousness and veer off the road.  I share watching them work fervently on dad 48 hours later as his blood pressure dropped once again and they fought to keep him alive.  I share I watched them cry as he succumbed to what they fought so hard against.

"We'll never know why dad lost blood pressure.  The brightest minds couldn't figure it out that day.  Sometimes, you just never know."

He nods in agreement, "Sometimes you just never know."

Our conversation had been a better part of an hour.
"Why don't we go get ourselves some raspberries and ice cream?" I suggest.  

Somehow it just seemed appropriate.  Raspberries were the reason for the festival and Dad always felt better after ice cream.

We eat the ice cream and berries.  Laughter once again fills the conversation.  

The truth is, you never know the day God will use your story and your struggling climb up to the mountain top as a beacon into the valley below.  

You just never know.