Stranger Danger.

There’s no way to sort my thoughts in an elegant way for this post, so bare with me. Do you remember the Rippee family? This post is about them, click here for a reminder.

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As most of you know, Brandon and I lost a dear friend last week. I received a phone call Thursday morning from an old co-worker asking when the last time I talked to Deborah (my best Lancaster friend) was. I answered a few months ago, as we kept in touch, but not as closely as either of us wished. She then proceeded to tell me that Deborah and her husband, Nathan, were in a tragic accident. They were biking with Nathan’s bike club on Aug 27^th, when two cars collided in an intersection and struck both my dear friends. Deborah was released from the hospital with a broken shoulder and collar bone, but Nathan took the brunt of the collision, suffering major head trauma and was taken off life support this past week. (Here's the article if you want more details.)

I felt sick. I began sobbing. I thanked my old co-worker for the information, scribbled down the address and time of his memorial services and quickly got off the phone. Catching my breath and trying to contain my sobs, I dialed Brandon and broke the news to him. Though I know he was as upset as me, Nathan and he were great friends, he was able to be a calming force for me.

I texted Deborah and let her know we would be coming down for the services and offered my support. I felt helpless, horribly sad and unsure how to move forward with my day.

You see, this man wasn’t just an ordinary guy, he wasn’t just a good guy; he was a great guy. He was a man’s man and Mr. Mom at the same time. He loved his wife and kids more than anything. He protected his family. He had great compassion for all people, but the greatest for his sweet children, Tayler and Mathew. He was more than just a likable guy. He was humble and giving. He didn’t complain. He was quietly hilarious. He had a sweet spirit. He was a great guy.

I sat with Deborah after the memorial services and reception and ran my fingers through her hair, hugged her, held her, listened to her, cried with her and held her hand. We joked some too, which was comforting to both of us, I think. I didn’t know what else to do; I still don’t. I’m so thankful for the memories I have with him and the qualities I was able to experience as part of their “family” while we lived in Lancaster. I don’t know how Deborah and her children will heal from this tragedy; I don’t think she does either.

It is so lame that a stranger’s poor choice took this great man from his family, from us, from everyone who knew him or could have known him. It’s awful and heartbreaking and I just don’t know what to do.