Somewhere Down the Crazy River

It's been a busy Monday already, trying to catch up from our topsy-turvy, very somber weekend. After 11pm on Friday night, men from church called and asked for all able-bodied men to join the search for the missing boy scout on Saturday morning at 5am. He fell into the Yellowstone River about 55 miles south of us in North Yellowstone Park. We had to meet the excavator at our house and form our driveway on Saturday morning, so we didn't go with our ward, but late Saturday afternoon, my brother Matt and his family arrived from Helena--the boy's home town--to join the search. Rich came home from working on the house and went down to Gardiner with Matt while Amie and I got my house in order and headed down to the ranch to set up camp--about 15 miles closer to the action. Rich and Matt met us there, saying they would join the search in the morning after a special 7am sacrament meeting in Gardiner.

I ate dinner at the ranch, but brought the girls home to sleep and attend our own church (I was teaching ) on Sunday. Matt, Amie, Jake, and Rich got back from the search around 4pm, tired and sunburned and quiet. Amie had helped feed the 200+ search volunteers and Rich's & Matt's search party found the boy's second tennis shoe early in the day. But by Sunday evening, there was still no sign of his body.

Of course it has been heavy on all our minds. When we camped, we camped up near the quonset hut, not on the banks of the river--an obvious, unspoken effort to avoid the same fate. And at the gym this morning , all the ladies were talking about it--they got the story, shook their heads, and then it was quiet--all these moms, lifting weights and probably thinking what I had thought: what would you ever do if you lost a child? What would the river be like after that? What if you were the scout master? Who makes the call and what do they say? It's really so horrible.

It's so cliche, but it makes one's goodbyes much more careful because, as morbid as it is, every goodbye could be your last. I mean, one sends one's kids off to camp on the assumption they will be back in a week or two, sun burned and bug-bitten and exhausted. But what if they DIDN'T come home? I would at least hope out last interactions had been full of love. Ugh!--it's so sad.

So silly me--my first morning thought was, "Man, I have so much to do today to catch up!" (I would be the world's worst single mother). But I immediately felt guilty for my grumping about. I have both of my kids and my husband, safe and sound, to clean up after, and I am so grateful to have the kind of husband who gives up his rare free time to serve a family in need. No question, no complaints. I hope to be half as good a person as he is someday.

Today is the first day of Addie's Play School, so I had better get ready for 90 minutes of letters, numbers, seasons, holidays, shapes, and music! Be sure to click on the green link above and keep the Sanburg family in your prayers.