Day 3

It's during afternoon training, right before lunch and we have just been told that three volunteers were in a car accident. One of them died.

I cried. Not tears tears, but the silent sad tears, just the single one that rolls down your cheek.

I feel scared for myself and being here in this country the size of Oregon with limited traffic lights and no speed limits and human struggle.

They said to think about this girl and her family and friends and that's exactly what I did. I thought about how this girls parents would feel. Anguish and grief, an immense hole will replace that lantern of pride that once occupied a space in their hearts.

Her friends will never be able to hear stories of her life altering time here in Uganda. No one will know of how her heart was really touched. No one will be reading her updated blog or waiting on her homecoming as it was all stolen away from her.

I don't know her name. I don't know her age. By the time this posts, you'll probably know more than me. I do know that this girl and this tragedy represent for every mother, every father, every brother, son, daughter, sister, friend, aunt, uncle, cousin, lover, she, this represents every fear, every restless night, every gap between texts or email or phone call that has you thinking the worst. Wishing you would have never let go.

And then how did you let go? How do you forgive? How do you dodge guilt that comes knocking for you? How do you manage after something like that?

Life is precious. Fragile. We can all perish at any time, from any means. Here in this rich green paradise we can lose our lives.

I can only hope that she felt fulfilled. That she wasn't robbed, but lived and loved fully. I know that the lives she left behind will forever be touched.

And that so far is day 3. Tears in Uganda.