The Sudden After

It annoyed me. The late night ring of the phone. I guessed it would be Big Guy--breaking the rule about not calling during The Big Bang Theory. I started to chide him as he was fishing in Kentucky, then I caught the pain in his voice and stopped my inane late night chatter.
"It's Candy Squared. Somene shot her. At the church. It's really bad," he said.

In that moment, I fell into the sudden after. I don't know what else to call. Before Big Guy's call, I knew of violence. After his call, I felt violence with a sharpness. Four states away, someone I didn't know intentionally shot my sister-in-law in her church. Big Guy hung up to call his two other sisters. Birdie had heard every word of my end of the call. She knew it was bad. She felt the sudden after.

I texted Daisy at Mizzou. "Call me now."  She called back, impatient in her coral dress--faint party noise in the background. Like a bandage ripped, I told her, "Candy Squared's been shot."  Then Daisy, with loud keening cries, fell too, into the sudden after.

In the early morning hours, Big Guy drove home to sleep an hour and then fly to Baltimore. Birdie and Daisy sleepwalked through arranging to skip or postpone exams. I moved Daisy out of Mizzou--it was that time of the school-year. Birdie went to prom. Big Guy wanted her to go. And Aunt Candy Squared would have wanted it, too.

With prom complete, Daisy, Birdie and I began our two-day drive to Baltimore. We had numbed ourselves with our talk to so many who wanted to know, who needed to know. And so, caught in the sudden after, we delved into our familiar Candy Squared tales--she was the babysitting Aunt who made Daisy and Birdie practice violin for two hours straight after Daisy let slip on a Thursday that her teacher expected 20 minutes of practice per day. We discussed the ferventness with which Candy Squared sang in church. I related the terror of riding in a car driven by Candy Squared. I learned the hard way that Candy Squared looks at whomever she talks with--even as she drives 70 miles per hour on I-75 heading into Atlanta.

Our conversation moved on to tales of Candy Squared's misplaced cash and a Candy Squared misplaced wallet. I reminded the girls that Candy Squared used to win baking competitions. We worried over her beloved cat Judith Boy. In typical Candy Squared fashion, she thought she adopted a girl kitty to keep her then kitty Issac company. And so Judith became Judith Boy.

And as I do so often, I reminded the girls that Candy Squared loved them. That even in those moments when her idosyncrasies and theirs clashed, her love was a constant. Like always, they answered back, "Yes, mom, we know."

By the time we arrived in Baltimore, I'd thrown a protective layer of good memories between me and the sudden after.It worked until we met up with Big Guy at the church where an angry person armed with a handgun shot and killed two churchworkers. A freshly painted empty office and a new patch of floor were all that marked the tragedy.

 I saw the strain on Big Guy's face. I felt the sudden after creep into my thinking. I pushed back. Yes, I'm on the raw and tender side of the sudden after. I feel the afterprint of violence.  But as I think it through, a lot of good people--mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and friends--have had to walk in the sudden after. But no one--especially not a killer--can take away the goodness and good memories of our loved ones. And no one can take away our intention--my intention--to keep doing what's good, even when evil so clearly exists.