GROUP 2B - 9,220 / 9,220 (100%) users invited back [last: ] Discuss
you died today. Well I guess technically, you died yesterday, but right now is not the time to argue about facts. The facts are just shitty terrible. I’ve known about this for just over 12 hours now, and it’s positively unbearable. How? HOW? YOU’RE 13, GODDAMMIT. You just graduated from sixth grade a month ago! ...I was at your sixth grade graduation a month ago. Do you remember that? Do you get to have memories now? Nothing makes sense right now. Nothing is fair right now. You were 13 years and 1 month today. You hadn’t really gotten to live life yet, and now you don’t get to. How the fuck does that make sense? I’ve yelled at you a bunch of times for near-cursing, but I’m allowed to curse right now. It’s one of the few things that are going to help me process this. I mean it’s you...but you’re not you anymore. You’re not anyone anymore. I’ve known you since you were five, but it’s all past-tense now. I hate it. I have been nauseated all day. I was actually dizzy after reading the text from Mrs. E. I had a hard time breathing when she changed it from, ‘bad accident. Life support’ to ‘apparently he died’. APPARENTLY HE DIED. That sentence killed me. That sentence is currently ripping everything inside of me into shreds, and I don’t think the blades will ever dull. That sentence is currently blurring my vision.
I keep having horrendous thoughts about you being gone, and then they lead to even worse thoughts. How’s your dad coping with this? Can I reach out to him; am I known enough to offer him comfort? What about Aunt Mary? What about your older half-sister and your nephew, C? Did dad ever marry Cynthia, making E and L your step-brothers? ….Were they there when it happened? Who WAS there? What do I do when I run into GC, NL, or TD and they are gutted more than I am and we all want to pretend it’s okay and this didn’t happen...but it did? Was KC involved in this at all? Is there a time machine? Can I survive going to your funeral? You, my big-cheeked sarcastic monster, who never could let go of an inside joke? What is life like without you there to tell me a ridiculous story in your ridiculous baby-voice to be ‘cute’, The last time I got to talk to you, your voice was changed and deeper; it was weird. And I’ll never get to memorize it. Your other voice, the one you had before, has been in my head all day. I heard your stories all day long. I almost crumpled to my knees out on the playground watching a group of young boys blissfully horsing around. They morphed into you and your crew, and I had to lean on a pole and look away. I hope you have an inkling of how much I loved you, G. Love you, present and future tense. I refuse to say ‘favorite’ because I don’t play favorites. But in terms of kids who have let me into their world, who have told me stories and made me smile and made going into my job a little more fun, you are very near the top. There is a reason I had more pictures of you to donate to the sixth grade yearbook than anyone else who had me as a teacher or counselor. Even things I hated, like when you just did the ‘Gangnam Style’ dance EVERYWHERE for over a year...I want that back. I want to reprimand you for not just fucking walking down the fucking hallway like a normal fucking kid one more fucking time. I want to play Camouflage with you. I want to watch you cover your head in clothespins and invent different names for that moment. I want to hear about your various MINOR injuries and threaten to wrap you in bubblewrap. Would bubblewrap have saved you yesterday? A really thick layer?
I am not sure if this post is English. I think it is part a letter, and part a stream-of-consciousness. I cannot vote harder for a ‘redo’ than the last we’ll call it 24 hours. You never even got to be a middle schooler, G. You and your sense of humor brought so much light into this world; knowing it is permanently extinguished is beyond depressing. I want to be strong for everyone right now, myself included, but I’m just not. I’m broken, G. And I know this is just the surface. This is me attempting to put the idea into my brain. Look out when it registers that this is reality. That we have no more chance reunions, or stories to share.
Rest easy, kiddo. Love you.
So, my friend was recently admitted to hospice.
I’m having some difficulty processing this.
Not that it doesn’t make sense to me – she’s been declining through cancer over the last year.
Not that I can’t accept this – she lives completely in love with Jesus, I know she’s going home and her destroyed body will be made new.
But I can’t quite talk to anyone about it, because it seems like everything I feel is wrong.
I see all of my Christian friends who know and love her posting things about how our only hope now is a miracle, and it just seems so weird. Our only hope is Jesus, yes? We are all in agreement on this? And we’re all living with our sights set on Him and being with Him?
So our only hope to prevent our friend from being restored and living with Jesus is if Jesus does something about it?
I feel like I’m missing something crucial here. Something that makes this add up. I’ve probably seen some forty people from Camp post this same idea. Camp was where I learned about loving God, and how this family of believers interacts and meshes together because Christ is our head.
I do get that she has a lot of kids, and several of them are quite young. But this is the Camp crew; we’ve seen God miraculously provide in thoroughly unexpected ways every year.
I get that she’s married and her husband treasures her.
I get that she’s a wonderful person, who has cried with us and prayed with us and done so much good in her life, just following Jesus.
So, it seems logical to me that all of us following Jesus would lead to us being pleased that she’s home with Him.
And instead, everybody seems upset about that.
And it’s not like we’re really losing anything. Sure, we won’t see her until we’re home – that’s going to be, what, sixty years for some of the longer ones? Two, for some of the unexpected? Drop in the bucket, next to eternity. I have a friend who moved to Damascus with his wife – I’m probably not going to see him again this side of Heaven, but they’re doing some serious good where they are, and we’re not all mournful about that.
I feel like I can’t talk to anybody about what I’m feeling, because I’ll hurt or shock them for having a different perspective. And I can’t even understand WHY I have a different perspective on this.