I’ve heard the saying that you can never go back, but the thing those people who say that don’t understand is that sometimes you have to, or at least you have to try - if for no other reason than to establish some sort of closure. Sometimes you have to go back, so that you don’t ever have to go back again.

As I stood on the bank of the lake watching the sun set on the water, I couldn’t help but feel like I should be somewhere else. I should be doing something else. I should be anywhere except there. I picked up a small, smooth stone and skipped it across the water, a trick one of my father’s Army friends had taught me a long time ago when I was a kid. I’ve never been the kind of person that wishes he could go back and do things differently, but as I watched the rock skip along the surface of the water then sink to the bottom of the lake I couldn’t help but wonder, what if I had done things differently? Would things be different? Would my life be different? Would I… be different?

This journey started a long time ago, looking back on it now, it seems like it was many lifetimes ago. It started with my entire family gathering for a fun filled Easter afternoon at the lake, and it would end many years later with only myself standing on the banks trying to come to terms with my own demons and the events that have haunted me for so many years.

It started as I said, many lifetimes ago - I was a different person then and so were everyone else involved. If I had to pinpoint when this started I would say that it started even before my family arrived, it started in a small, blue tent with a little girl singing a silly children’s cartoon song.

“I love you, I love you, and you, and you, and you…” four year old Christina sang as she pointed at each of us in the tent.

“I love you too baby girl,’ I said as she finished her song and I hugged her.

We had decided to camp out at the lake the night before Easter so we would be sure to get a good spot the next day. It was a good thing we did because the next day the park was full of families doing the exact same thing as we were. We were enjoying a day of family fun, cooking out, drinking, and hunting multi-colored eggs. I remember the kids were all laughing as they ran around looking for the colored eggs, both hard-boiled and plastic ones filled with jelly beans, small toys, and bubble gum. One lucky kid would find a plastic egg with a big grand prize of a brand new five dollar bill.

The lake was soothing, almost hypnotic. The reason I remember the lake so clearly is because as I stood by it’s sparkling waters and the sun warmed me, I felt calm and at peace. It was as if everything was right in the world and nothing could change that. At the time I didn’t know that the peace I felt then would be shattered with the ringing of the phone later that day or that it would be years before I would feel that peace again.

I watched as the kids hunted for the prizes. All the kids were having a good time, running around, bumping into each other as they tried to grab all the eggs they possibly could. Christy was laughing. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. The wind played with her long, brown hair pulling it behind her as she ran. She was happy because in her hand she held the blue plastic egg, the lucky egg with the five dollar bill. The other kids were happy too, but in their faces you could see just a hint of envy as they congratulated Christy. That day they all agreed that she was the lucky girl, but luck is a funny thing and it works both ways - sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s bad.

Before the sun set on that Easter Sunday Christy would be dead and my life would never be the same again.

to be continued...