A Stranger Who Stayed

I was driving on the highway alone four months after Ethan died when I noticed flashing lights in my rearview mirror. There was no way he was pulling me over. I was going the speed limit.

I moved over to the right lane to let him pass, but he stayed close behind me. I finally pulled over, perplexed. I reached into my glove compartment and grabbed my insurance and registration. The state trooper walked over to the passenger side. I rolled down the window. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked.

“I have no idea, officer,” I said. I handed him my information.

“Ma’am, your registration has expired.” He returned my registration card. I looked at the date—January 31, 2018—and burst out crying. The state trooper waited, confused.

Finally, when I could catch my breath, I managed to find the words. “My son died that day. He was shot and killed. He was just 15 years old.” I looked into the state trooper’s eyes.

“I know your story,” he said quietly. “Your son’s name was Ethan.” He reached through the passenger window, took both my hands in his, and said, “Let’s pray together.”

We remained there for what seemed like a long time. My car shook as the trucks and cars sped past us, but it was eerily quiet. I never did find out the name of that state trooper, but his kindness will always stay with me.