“Accounting for the Unaccountable” by Daniel Johnson (Poetry ’04)

August 19, 2014: Panicked, I locked myself in the first-floor bathroom of our 1905 Colonial in Boston. I didn’t want my kids to see their father melt down. I pressed my hands into my eye sockets. Sobs cut loose from my chest. I ran water over my face, then picked up my cell phone.

I left a voice message for Ricky. When Savage picked up, I told him, “I have terrible news about Jim…he’s been killed by ISIS, beheaded. There’s a video; don’t watch it.” I called Durkin. Then, I called a dozen other friends. There’s humanity, I’ve learned, in relaying bad news personally.