At the restaurant last night, we heard someone say that 4 people had just been killed by a tornado near Omaha. After our time in the basement, my sister Nisey called my cell phone to say that she just seen on TV that 4 boy scouts had been killed by a tornado in western Iowa. That turned out to be the truth. It’s terrible and tragic and puts our delays and broken glass in perspective.
Four boys, bright and invincible (I know they were because I went to boy scout camp too), died at age 13. We’re bonded to them by the same bad storm sweeping eastward across Iowa. Their camp was only twenty-some miles west of where we were headed. Of course, we talk about them, try to imagine the terror and the agony of their parents and families. And we grieve too as strangers do when a significant trauma seems way too close and random and pointless.