But I found myself, once I'd started, pulling down everything. I wrenched every last one of them out from between the fencing and jerked them up by the roots. Even the ones still blooming--deep orange, creamy yellow, cheerful pumpkin--ended up buried in the compost pile or heaped on the dormant flowerbeds. All this uncharacteristic destruction gave me a fierce satisfaction. Half-way through, I realized why.
December 5 is a big holiday in the Netherlands. Sinterklaas and his sidekick Zwarte Piet bring presents to all the boys and girls. Families gather to play games and share jokes. It's a time of warmth and laughter and good fun. Maybe it was too big a holiday for the man down the block. Maybe that's why he killed himself last year on Sinterklaas. And maybe that's why his teen-aged daughter went into hysterics on the front lawn after she found him. The goodhearted neighbor tried to get the girl into her house. When we heard the commotion, I went over to help. The neighbor got the girl's cell phone, stepped outside, and began calling the girls' family members. Other neighbors came, but they also left. I stayed with this grieving girl I did not really know. I stayed once the police woman came. I stayed until the rest of the girl's family finally showed up. And because I did not really know them, I do not really know anything else.
Now I do know, though, why I woke up with such a tension headache this morning and why I ripped out all those nasturtiums. They'll grow again next spring.
Thank God death no longer has the last word. Not even such a death on such a day.
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. John 10:10
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