It was a difficult Friday, the sun glinting like a knife over the mountains. Someone from the fellowship phoned me and said he might have hit someone in a blackout, killed a person. He had a headache and ‘wanted to be good to himself’, asked me to call the hospitals and morgues.
I said no. Thinking about a fruit packer late at night, walking the long distance home, tired and wanting to get back to his or her family. The wounded person or the body would have been found along that busy road.
Starting to deal with things can’t wait. I don’t want to sit and hold an unrepentant killer’s hand. He might have been in an alcoholic blackout. He doesn’t recall anything. He may have imagined the episode, a roadside mirage. But he still doesn’t want to get sober. And that is the bottom line.