Loucendia, a state employee like me and a participant on the same deafblind advisory council that I am on, awoke yesterday morning and prepared to report for work. Like me, she probably got herself ready, attended to her family – making lunches and breakfast – making sure everyone was good to go for the day – and then she made the drive to our downtown area. She parked in the newest of our state-owned parking decks, and began the walk to her office building, one building over from mine. The walk is one that hundreds of state employees make each day, but it is also one that requires crossing a very busy street in them middle of rush hour.
As Lou attempted to cross the street, a crossing marked by the flashing “WALK” sign as safe for a pedestrian, she was struck by a city transit bus and was killed.
The investigation is still continuing, and no answers have yet been given for this horrible tragedy. It weighs so very heavily on my mind and in my heart, and has made this Thankful Thursday post extremely significant for me.
Today, a day for which none of us have any promises, a day which could have started as inconsequential as Lou’s probably did yesterday, a day which could bring unheralded tragedy, is a day I am driven to give even stronger thanks than usual. And, as a direct result of the tragic end to Lou’s life, I have decided to take a different approach to giving thanks publicly on this blog.
I will not be posting Thankful Thursday after today. What I will be doing is making a statement at the end of every blog post that I write – a statement of thanks for whatever stirs in my heart at that moment. I have decided that giving thanks publicly should be a daily proclamation, and not confined to just one day a week.
Today, I am thankful…
- for the smile on Ashley’s face this morning when I woke her and she looked into my eyes
- that my adult son still comes into my bedroom each night and signs “I love you” before he goes to sleep
- that Jessica calls me every night, even if it just to tell me what she had for dinner
- that Corey is healthy and happy, and that his life is not the hell it was for the first 12 years of living
- for my brother and his beautiful daughter, Melody
- for my special friends – friends who are just a call or glance away – friends who understand me and still like me – friends like Lynnette, Amy, Jackie, Sharon, Mike and Don
- for people like Lou, people who choose to make a difference for children
- for the material blessings in my life – a home, three meals a day, healthcare, and a job that allows me to provide for my children
- and for the ability and rights that I enjoy, including writing this blog
Rest in peace, Lou.