What do you do when there’s nothing good to write about? What do you do when you find yourself questioning, once again, WHY something had to happen? Why do these things seem to be happening more and more often?

My friend, my dear friend whom I’ve known for years, is burying her son tomorrow. Twenty years old. A beautiful child. I fell in love with him the minute I met him. Charming, polite, full of life and energy and youthfulness and vigor. He was a student in geology with a bright future ahead. And she’s burying him — not because of alcohol, or drugs, or a car accident, or any of the other situations we try to put out of our minds because the thought of losing a child to any of them is far too unbearable to even imagine — but because of a freak accident.

He fell down the stairs.

Nicholas fell down the stairs. Nicholas died. Just like that.

What the hell am I going to say to her?