First it was Hurricane Harvey. So many people here in my city could only sit and wait or flee as the rain poured down and the creeks rose and their homes flooded.
Then it was Hurricane Irma, and it happened all over again to the Caribbean, and to Florida.
Then Hurricane Maria. Puerto Rico is still devastated, weeks later, and will remain so for months and years.
Then Las Vegas. Innocent people go to a concert to have a fun evening out with family or friends, and end up in the middle of a massacre.
Then California. People who survived the wildfires only by jumping in swimming pools, thousands who had only minutes to escape with nothing but their lives.
Several weeks ago, a mom friend from the NASA daycare who’d been dealing with unexplained blood clots in her leg was diagnosed with cancer. She’s on her third round of chemo.
Yesterday just after lunch, I found out that one of my best friends from childhood — elementary all the way through high school; that’s us on the right on our senior year band trip in 1996 — had a brain aneurysm on Sunday night. She’s not going to make it. She has a wife, a 15-month-old son, and 4 adopted older children in their teens and twenties.
Some days, it’s really, really hard to find the good.