Curtis Allan Jordan RIP
by Roberta Jordan
It was a beautiful summer evening. I had spent most of the day preparing for our July 4th celebration, when a knock came at our front door. I was surprised to see one of my sons friends standing there, his face was ashen, his eyes watery. From somewhere deep down I knew what he had come to tell us. I wanted to slam the door, shut out the news that I had feared for so long. My oldest son, our third child was gone. He had been riding his motorcycle when it happened. Just a stupid mistake, and he was gone. I had seen him earlier in the day as he drove past the house and honked the horn, and as always threw his hand up and waved as he drove by. That moment plays over and over in my mind.The next time I saw him was when I picked up a newspaper and saw his body lying in the middle of the highway, a sheet had been draped over him.
When his younger brother claimed his belongings at the coroners office he had been told that Curtis had died on impact. My son handed me his brothers cell phone, not a scratch on it. How strange that Curt had endured so many injuries and yet his phone was in tact. His wedding ring was undamaged as well, that simple band that stands for eternal love. How we got through the next few days is beyond me. But we did.
As I mentioned Curtis was our third child, his older sister's had passed away before him. At his memorial one of my grandchildren hugged me and said "Its okay Gram, Uncle Curt is with Aunt Tina and Aunt Lisa. He will be just fine" there are times when I truly believe children are far wiser then adults. We mourn his loss, but we know that he will be "just fine". I like to think of him out there, somewhere, riding, feeling free. And in the quiet of the night I often think I hear that familiar sound of a horn honking. Rest Well, my son. Rest Well.