My Boy Child is named Will. He was named after my father who died three weeks before his birth. It is a name that suits him to a T, and over the years I’ve met many boys named Will. I tend to instantly like them, but I’m prejudiced when it comes to that name.
On Sunday, we drove Will and his friend to the airport for three weeks in London for a summer class to study architecture. On the way there, my husband pointed out the thunderheads and said somebody was going to get a hell of a storm.
That night, we learned the storm we saw brewing in the afternoon unleashed its fury on Joplin, Missouri which is about two hours from here. Joplin High School was having their graduation ceremony and another boy named Will and his dad were headed home. The rest of the family left before them and when they were a mile from home, the dad called to say they could see the tornado and to keep the garage door open so they could run for cover in the house as soon as they arrived.
They never made it to the garage and the dad is in the hospital. Will was ripped from the car (which happened to be a Hummer), seatbelt and all through the sun roof. He has not been seen since and his aunts are wandering around showing his picture to everyone, with hopes that he’s out there somewhere and hasn’t been able to call his family.
The day they celebrated his graduation from high school and the future that lay before him was the last time he was seen, and I don’t know what a family is to do when they can’t find their Will.