It's Monday and I expect bad things to happen. It's Monday.

This morning brought some good news. My tax refund was deposited in my account 3 weeks earlier than expected. With the good comes the bad and this morning it came in the form of a phone call from my son David Scott. I could barely understand him he was crying so hard. His son, Connor James, was found dead this morning.

Connor wasn't in an accident and he didn't do drugs, unless you consider milk a drug. Connor was 2 years old and he was fine last night. This morning he was gone, lost to us and to his twin sister Sierra. She wants to know where Connor is and there are no words to help a 2-year-old understand that her womb companion, her brother is gone.

My son and his wife are devastated and I am thrown back nearly 30 years to the call that came to tell me my sister's son Brandon was dead. Brandon was 3 months old. He died of SIDS. His loss still touches us and his brothers, Ants and Cody, will never forget him even though Brandon was born first.

My son is devastated and wants someone to punish for his son's death. He wants to know where God was when his son was taken and why God allowed this to happen. David Scott wants vengeance.
There is no rhyme or reason to Connor's death. When the autopsy results come back we will know what happened in Connor's final moments, but nothing will ever help us understand why him, why my grandson, why my son's only son, why a child had to die, why Sierra's twin was chosen on this day of all days.

It doesn't help to know that thousands of children died last night and this morning and will die today and tomorrow and all the tomorrows to come. I don't know those children. I feel sad when any child dies, but this is personal. This death devastates my family, not some third world or privileged child anywhere but here.

Yes, I am angry. Yes, I understand that my grandson will never grow up and kiss a girl (or boy), will never go to prom or graduate high high school or college, get a degree, meet someone and marry, have children and grandchildren. All his tomorrows are null and void; they are gone.

Sierra doesn't understand where Connor is. Her days and nights and everything in between have been filled with her twin. What does her 2-year-old mind understand? What will she understand now? She will know a void in her life that can never be filled. Something will always be missing and she may not know what; it will be a Connor-shaped void, a much bigger void than the Connor-shaped void that fills me, my son, his mother, and all the people who knew and loved him, who will miss him now and all the days that follow.

I'm selfish. I want my children to be happy and for their children to be happy grow up and have happy children. Now all I can think about is the Christmas stocking I cross-stitched and finished 2 months ago for Connor. He'll never get to use it. He will never hang it on the mantelpiece every December and take it down Christmas morning filled with little gifts, fruit, nuts, or candy. I can't send it to my son because that is not a pain I want him to feel. He does not need tangible evidence of the future he and his son will never share. No, I'll pack it away and put it on a shelf and I will never look at it even though I will see it for the rest of my life without opening the box and taking it out.

My mother died 3 months ago on Friday 13th. My father died 5 years ago March 1st. In the interim, I have lost aunts, uncles, and close friends.

My grandson, Connor James Woodard, died April 16, 2012.

There are no words.