I had plans for a totally different post today, but sometimes, things just change.
My 3 older kids live with me half of the time and with their father and stepmother half of the time. When they are with him, they are in a different town, about 13 miles from here.
In that town today, an 8-year old girl was killed when she rode her bike into the side of a grain truck as it was making a turn. She hit the back wheels of the semi with her bike and she was run over.
A life ended after 8 short years. Eight years.
How does that happen? How do you explain that?
I haven't had a chance to talk to the kids yet. I don't know if they know the identity of the little girl yet. I recognize her name, and it's a very small town, so I'm sure that they know her, even if they weren't in the same grade. I'm sure that their father and stepmother know her, as they both work for the school district.
I can't even imagine how they are all feeling.
I can't even begin to imagine the pain that the little girl's family is experiencing. Or the heartache that the driver of the truck must be feeling.
All I know is that I will never pass up a chance to tell my kids that I love them. I will never pass up the opportunity for a hug or a smile or a touch.
Tell your kids that you love them every chance you have.
Hug them and kiss them, even if it embarrasses them to no end.
Let them know how much they mean to you.
We have no way of knowing if we will ever have another chance.