"I Felt a Connection"

I was so isolated in grieving my son's death. Then a stranger reached out

- LORI DURHAM

I pulled up to my house with a sigh of relief. It had been another tough day at school.

I teach high school English. I love reading and writing and language and literature, but lately I had been going through the motions. A stack of papers awaited my grading pen on the car seat beside me. Just the thought of tackling those papers was exhausting.

Eight months earlier, my 27-year-old son, Russell, had died unexpectedly. His car had caught fire. The details were too awful to contemplate. The tragedy was so horrific, it had blotted out my whole world.

I was back at work now, but my job was the only thing that had stayed the same in my life. I was a shell of my former self. Listless. Swallowed by despair. I barely got out of bed each day.

I was seeing a psychiatrist, which helped a little, but I was still floundering. My husband, John, and my daughter, Allison, who was in high school, struggled too. People at church were praying for us. I was grateful, but I didn’t feel any different.

Coming home each day was a relief, but there was no escape there either. So many reminders of Russell. So many regrets about a future I would never have with him.

I honestly did not know how I was going to get out of this pit. I was mad at God. I didn’t blame him exactly. I just…it’s hard to put into words. I felt as if he was off somewhere and I was all alone. Trust was gone.

The only prayer I could muster was “Help!” It didn’t seem as if God was listening.

I picked up the mail on my way inside. I noticed a letter-sized envelope addressed to me in neat handwriting. The return address was Searcy, Arkansas. I didn’t know anyone there. Was it one of those junk mail pieces made to look personal?