I have a gapping, yaw of a hole in my heart. I believe the rip may have torn past the edges of my beating organ, actually penetrating my very soul. Tanya is dead.
I have written about Tanya before, but until now, I did not identify her, merely giving her a pseudonym. Her name, though, is Tanya. Tanya Scott, the wife of Glenn, the mother of 15-year-old Shelby. Yesterday, here in Lake Havasu, she was killed.
My grief is barely containable, for our lives during these past few weeks, as Jerry and I ministered to this precious beautiful family, have been intricately knitted. On our first meeting, I loved Tanya. I looked into her liquid brown eyes as we were introduced, my soul made a unique connection to hers, and I determined at that moment to do all in my power to be her friend, and to lead her to a deep relationship with Jesus.
Only days before we met, she had been released from the hospital, having been very sick. “Mr. Scott, we’ve saved her this time, but there will come a day when we can do no more for her,” the doctor warned Glenn.
Now she is gone. Slipped right through our fingers, dead, her life finished, her chances wasted, her roulette spin having shot her off into darkness and finality.
I am devastated, I tell you, and can hardly bear the thought. Questions abound.
“Should we have done more?”
Sometime this afternoon, we will go to a house where the extended family have gathered. Grown children have flown in from Oregon, and Jerry and I will speak with them, and cry together, and we will pray.
Pray, please pray for all of us. You see, our broken hearts are leaking, and our soul-screams must be deafening.
My devotional blog is here.