Guest blogger Kagey is a mom of three living in southeast Centennial with her husband, Mr. Adventure and her dog. Her house is never quite clean, her clothes are always a little out of date, and she is always looking for more time to write, but at least she can laugh about it all.

After a successful checkup, I recently took the kids to a playground by the doctor’s office. As my son and daughter scampered to tackle the slide, a teenage boy walked up with a small boy, about 2 years old.

The teen turned out to be the boy’s uncle. We stood together watching the kids play, and he began talking. It was as if he was the ancient mariner from Coleridge’s poem, and I was compelled to listen, even though I could tell right away it was a story I didn’t want to hear. It was the stuff of my nightmares.

Somewhere in the hospital behind me was a mom, the teen’s older sister, making decisions about life support, watching read outs of brain activity with desperation. A few days before, the mom, dad, two year old boy, and two month old girl, had come to Denver for a short vacation. The mom stayed in the hotel room with the baby while the dad went to play in the pool with the son. Something – a heart attack? a small stroke? they aren’t sure what – happened to the dad while he was swimming. The boy was not in the water, thankfully, but he had to watch as his dad thrashed in the pool until strangers arrived to help.

The dad’s heart was stopped for a long time, and he was technically dead for a few minutes. When the mom called her parents and brother in Texas, she told them he was dead. They, of course, hopped on the first plane to Denver.

They are praying, the young uncle tells me, but now it seems almost all hope is gone. The mom is pharmacist, and she understands what is happening to her husband, understands the drugs they are using, understands that those EEG readings showing that his brain isn’t working anymore.

I ask if they need anything – could I run to the store for formula, diapers, anything, but they have all the things they need. I feel helpless in the face of this pain. The boy with the shy smile playing with my children will probably not remember his father; his baby sister most certainly won’t.

I have been praying for that family, ever since I left that playground, even though I’m not sure what to pray for. At odd moments, I find eyes full of unshed tears, and I have been hugging my kids more often than before.

When there is such pain in the world, occurring randomly, without warning, I am left defenseless and empty. How do you handle such suffering?