Pumpkin cookies

"What do I say?" I thought, as I was paying for the loaf of garlic bread and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. "Is it even appropriate to bring something?" was the next thought in my mind.

How could cookies possibly replace a person? How do you make something like that better? How do you make up for someone jumping off the roof of a building?

Somehow cookies seemed like the only thing I could offer my distrote friend as I pulled up to his house. My heart was punding hard in my chest as I walked through his open front door. I heard voices in the kitchen. What was I to expect? How would he look? Had he been crying? Was he in shock?

As I entered the kitchen I held the plastic bag out in front of me and smiled. "How are you?" seemed like the natural thing to ask, but then again I knew how he was. His roommate had been found dead at the bottom of the student union early that morning. The police were saying suicide. I couldn't bring myself to ask the natural question because it didn't seem appropriate. It seemed contrite and unthoughtful. A hug was the only thing that seemed appropriate at the time, so I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around his neck. We lingered there for a moment, and I could sense he was just glad I was there at all.

As we parted, I found them all gathered in the kitchen. He was eating a bowl of spagetti over the sink. They laughed about the ants taking over the kitchen and he thanked me for the food.

My heart ached for his lose. How do people recovery from tragedies like this? I know it happens. People suffer every day, but somehow this one seems so unrecoverable, so real, so close. Why? Why did he do it? Why couldn't we do anything? Why is the world round? Why does the Sun rise every morning? Only God knows. That's the hardest part about it.