The anniversary of Ryan’s brutal beating is just days away. Three days, to be exact. The week leading up to this is the worst… except for the actual day, November 7th. The day that everything changed forever. The day Austin Vantrease and Jonathan May (both of Newark, Delaware) reigned despair on my son and family and walked away from the wreckage they caused (after hiding behind a dumpster, that is).It’s not like I can do anything to get this behind me any faster. No, I just have to let it happen… all on its on. Time is in control, not me.
It’s like sitting in an old, dilapidated, broken down jalopy in the middle of a railroad intersection. The car doors are jammed shut and there’s no escape. The Railroad Crossing sign’s blinking red lights and clanging bell to let me know it’s coming is of no help. Hell, it’s just taunting me. It’s telling me that the collision is inevitable.
It’s only a matter of time. The 11-7 train is always on schedule. You can set your watch by it, by damned. It’s going to happen.
It’s going to hurt.
November 7th is coming. I can feel it. The vibration in the rails is getting stronger by the hour. Not much longer before I can hear it… then see it. It’s a locomotive barreling down the tracks of time. The best I can do is cover my face with hands and cry. I cry for all that was lost… all that was already demolished further up the line. I cry for the certain pain when time and circumstances again collide. I’ll cry as me and my family are helplessly plowed along the rails into the future.
It’s (always) going to hurt.