My sweet, sweet nephew shot himself whilst my brother and sister in law were at the Mayo clinic trying to sort out the condition that my brother has that I can't even pronounce. His brother found his body in the den.

The cleaners are coming at 9. It's astonishing how the mundane intrudes on the tragic.

My sister is going over to tell my parents this morning. I swear by everything I call holy that if my mother doesn't go to this funeral, she's dead to me.

I hate guns. This is not a good time to engage with me on that.

I don't know how my dear brother is going to survive this. I'm not sure I would even want to.

Depression is not to be trifled with.

I am grateful for my AMAZING family. No one hesitated a second -- all on the way to Houston.

I am grateful for Anne Lamott who taught me in her book Traveling Mercies that when tragedy strikes, we are called by Christ to build a shelter of love against the hurricane.

Actually, I'm going to download that book right now to read again on the plane.

Bidden or not bidden God is present.