"She lived life to the fullest, and now she's gone."

"Sarah" was a classmate in high school. I didn't know her all that well, but I knew her face from the yearbook pictures. It was the face looking at me from across the room at my thirty-year high school reunion last month. Don't ask me why.

But we connected somehow, and stayed in touch after that evening. When I called last night, I learned that her daughter, her only child, died in a rock-climbing accident in Tennessee a few weeks ago. She was only 21. Sarah was devestated, to be sure. And yet, surrounded by family and friends and neighbors calling on her with regularity, the full weight of the news has yet to hit her. Sarah returns to work today, of all days.

I was reminded of where I was two years ago today, in an office two blocks west of the White House, one block south of the World Bank, and several blocks northeast of the State Department. Had certain evildoers had their way, I would not be here now.

And yet -- Deo volente (God willing) -- I am here. My son, my only child, is here as well, having passed through the dark night of the soul that is severe depression and suicide attempts. The devil came for his due, and did not find it. But the Scriptures tell us of how he lurks, like a lion prowling through the night. So we watch, and place ourselves, and our loved ones, in our Savior's loving care.

From Washington to The Great White Way, are thousands of stories like Sarah's, that are remembered on this day. But they are not remembered best in the thousands, however much a precedent in American history that may be. They are remembered one at a time. Today, I won't remember the thousands of stories. Today I will remember Sarah's.

"Did they beat the drum slowly, did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound the Dead March as they lowered you down?
And did the the band play The Last Post and chorus?
Did the pipes play The Flowers of the Forest?"

(No Man's Land, or The Green Fields of France, by Eric Bogle)