When the fog sets in . . .

Fog really is an incredible thing.  I remember my dad explaining fog to me as a young child.  "Fog is just clouds that have sunk down to ground level," he said.  The explanation really was intriguing.  That's crazy!  Something that seemed so far out of reach--a cloud--could actually descend so low that we could drive through it, touch it,  and experience it up close.  We could be in the clouds.  It really was unreal.  It was exciting.

However, as an adult who is trying to get somewhere in a car, fog is a nuisance.  It makes it hard to see where you're going.  It makes it difficult to see the markers--road signs, landmarks, lane markings--which help keep us on track when we're trying to get to our destination.  It simply makes it way more difficult to see where you're going.  You sometimes can't see 10 feet in front of the car, let alone miles down the road.

At the same time, the fog makes you slow down.  It makes you pay way more attention to the here and now.  It makes you accept the fact that you can't see nearly as far down the road as you want to.  It makes you  pay attention to things that you take for granted when you can see clearly.  Seriously, who pays attention to the white line on the outside of the driving lane?  When it's clear out you don't need it.  You can see where the lane ends.  But try driving in the fog without those markings and you see why they were put there.  The fog makes you rely on what's right in front of you in order to get your bearings.  And you just hope that whoever painted that line can be trusted.  You hope they know where the road leads.

Fog can be a scary thing.  It makes me uneasy.  It makes me nervous.  But it also makes me focus.  I have somewhere I know I need to get to, and stopping just isn't an option.  So I slow down.  I look for new markers to help me stay on track.  But I must keep going in this new reality.  It's a journey I haven't chosen, but a journey I must take.  The road I must take is laid out before me.  The fog wasn't part of my plans.  But I must keep going.

On December 12, 2012 (12/12/12) I found my youngest son, Thomas, dead in his crib.  He was almost 2 years old.  The fog sets in.  This is my journey.