Tweet The easy part was knowing.
As hard as it was to hear the words Avery didn't make it, at least I finally knew. I had my answer. I knew how to proceed (even if I had no clue how I was going to proceed).
The dying was the easy part.
The hours before it were pure hell.
But knowing something wasn't right. But not exactly what that something was.
Pacing the floor. Looking at the clock. Wiping down the counter for the third time.
Looking out the window. Punching in the cell phone numbers.
Listening to it ring. And ring. And ring. Before hearing the voice politely ask me to please leave a message.
Going to the bathroom but not knowing what to do when I got there.
Walking down the hall.
Calling for someone. Anyone.
Saying the words I can't find the girls.
Still not knowing. Hating not knowing.
Punching in more numbers.
Trying to sound calm when I told the police it's not like them; they wouldn't be late.
Pacing. Going to one door. Then another. Looking out the window. Typing in the phone number trying not to cry more pacing back to the door then to the window check the phone call my mom and God please help me!
The rising of fear reaching levels of epic proportions.
The scenarios in my mind growing out of control.
I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm just over reacting. The girls are fine. I know they're fine. They just lost track of time. It's okay. Don't be ridiculous they are going to be fine.
Over and over.
Hearing the doorbell.
Welcoming them in.
I'm sorry. There's been an accident...
And finally knowing.