As soon as I heard of the explosion at the school my thoughts ran wild. Tears streaming down my face as I drove, sirens of emergency vehicles whizzing by me. What caused the explosion? Gas leak? Some disgruntled kid tired of being bullied, ready to end his life and the lives of his tormentors? I ran red lights, swerving through traffic. Is my husband ok? Did Ryan die? How many kids got hurt, died?

I threw the gear shift in park, left the door wide open, ran in the direction of all the debris. Emergency personnel were still trying to close off the area, but several of us who came to find out the fate of our children, lovers or parents snuck by. The carnage was brutal. Body parts strewn about the rubble. Then I saw it, I clawed at my face and screamed. One of Ryan’s blue converse, the lower half of his leg amputated still in it the shoelace untied and one end smoldering. If it weren’t for that shoe he would be indistinguishable from all the others. His shoe lace. How could he have died with that one shoelace untied? Among all this death and destruction, who would tie it for him? When the explosion hit did he know that it was untied? This man, the love of my life, who always had a meticulous plan, nothing gone unchecked died with his shoe untied. How unfair.

Now three days later, a funeral with closed coffin my mind returns to that one injustice in all of this. Ryan, my husband died and was never going to be able to tie that one untied shoelace.