As I sit writing this it is early Wednesday morning—as in just a hair after midnight on Tuesday.  In Obion County, Tennessee two families and hundreds of friends are waiting.  Waiting . . . and hoping . . . . and praying.  For those of you who may not know, the Obion County High School’s fishing club was participating in a tournament on Pickwick Lake over the weekend.  One team experienced trouble with their motor before the competition began . . . and it was believed they had loaded up and returned home . . . until they didn’t. Their boat has been located on the opposite side of the dam 14 miles away from where they started . . . and there are only a few ways that can happen . . . none of which are good unless you trailer your boat and drive to the other side or lock through.  And they did neither.  Now a rescue operation has turned into a recovery mission for the two fifteen year olds and one of their fathers who was serving as a chaperon.

For those of us who have seen the dam and its spillways, who know what these waters can do, it is difficult to believe in a potential miracle, even though they have occurred in the past.  But those in the midst of the anguish have to believe.  Even if they accept the loss of their loved ones—the end result of a day that should have been filled with fun instead of fear—there will always be hope that they are wrong—until the recovery mission is successfully completed.

Years ago we received a call from a woman in a nearby community.  Her daughter, whom she had not seen for years, had been located.  Unfortunately, it was someone from the coroner’s office who delivered the news.  Her child had made it to New Orleans and had died there, identified but with no known family.  The employees of that office had done all they knew to do, hoping to locate someone . . . anyone . . . but without success—until the day before her body was to be buried in a pauper’s field.  There was one more phone number, one more opportunity, and when that one persistent person called it, her mother answered.

We brought her daughter home, to a woman who always believed she would return—but not in the manner she had hoped.

It is hard—unbearably hard—to sit and wait, not knowing the outcome of your vigil.  And there are always two voices whispering in your ear . . . like the devil and the angel you often see perched on some poor soul’s shoulders.  The big question in this instance is which one is whispering what?  Is it better to cling to a logically unrealistic hope or to accept that Death is the verdict when you only have circumstantial evidence as proof?

There are those who say knowing provides closure.  When the ultimate proof is offered, you can quit waiting and begin healing. Those people are the ones who’ve never found themselves in that position.  If you have to wait years . . . or a lifetime . . . to know whether someone you love is dead or alive, you will still grieve, but it will be gently tempered by hope for a miracle.  When you finally know , the grief changes, but it is still grief; it was grief from the moment they disappeared and it will continue for the rest of your life.  It’s just that now it’s grief compounded by knowledge.  Sadly, the only thing that closes when Death is the final answer to the mystery of the missing is the door to Hope—because once you know, you no longer have the option of believing in miracles.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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