Iran, Pulling Teeth and Wrestling with the Violence Within

At least fifteen minutes passed before all north bound traffic began to roll again, but only a few yards at a time before stop and go for the next three miles as all lanes of traffic were funneled into one. I didn't want to look at the why for; but I did anyway and saw the skid marks of the van that had careened off the highway and into a thicket of eighty feet high pine trees and oaks.

At least nine flashing cop cars surrounded the site and I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be two white sheets stretched out on the ground.

There was no stemming the tears that erupted as I recollected the goodbye hugs from my family about an hour prior, and most especially the one in unison from the 5, 7, 9 and 11 year olds who call me Granny E.

I wondered and hoped/wished/prayed that all involved in that morning's violence on 1-75 had parted from family and friends on the highest ground: with hugs all around.

I also realized as never before that every good bye; could be one's final one.

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