Part 2 — The Knock at 2 A.M.
My only son, David, died on October 18, 2016.
He was thirty-three years old.
At 2:07 in the morning, two police officers knocked on my front door.
There are sounds you forget.
And there are sounds your body remembers forever.
That knock was one of them.
I woke immediately.
I looked through the window beside the door and saw two uniforms under the porch light.
Before I opened it, I somehow knew.
One officer asked, “Are you Margaret Ellis?”
“Yes.”
“Ma’am, is David Ellis your son?”
My knees nearly gave out.
David and Vanessa had been driving home after dinner with friends.
It had rained for most of the evening.
On a curve about fifteen minutes from their house, David lost control on the slick road.
Their car left the pavement and struck a tree.
Vanessa survived with bruises, a sprained wrist, and a small cut near her hairline.
