The post I wrote in my head about this, on my way home from dropping off Jake, was completely different. I was going to start with my bad day and then point out that nothing about my bad day means anything due to what happened this afternoon. But that's just it. Nothing about my bad day means anything due to what happened this afternoon. So why talk about my bad day at all?
We'd been at my aunt and uncle's air show party long enough to park our chairs under a tree, crack open a Mike's and watch a couple events (they live close enough to the air show area to see quite a bit). A few minutes later, my Aunt Linda called that dinner was ready and we all got up just as two stunt planes started their show, smoke billowing behind them as they loop-to-looped.
It wasn't until a bit later that someone came over from the house next door and said there had been a accident. We'd noticed that nothing was going on in the air but I think most of us just figured that they were doing something low to the ground that we couldn't see for the trees. The stunt planes had clipped each other. One landed safely and the other crashed - that pilot was Care Flighted to Miami Valley Hospital. A bit later we found out they were canceling the show for the day...the pilot, forty-six year old Jim LeRoy, had died.
So, see? My bad day? Meant absolutely nothing.