What I'm Learning From You

It was a day like any other this morning. Hotter than what I'd like but at least it wasn't cold. I went to my internship, but left early. I got to May's Chapel at 1:05, and the receiving didn't start until 1:30. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I sat in my car, across from the cemetery, and waited for Ethan. It hit me as I drove up, actually. I saw the familiar white hearse parked in front of the church and I lost it. He was so young. I saw the vault set up at the back of the cemetery with chairs being set out for the family; Matt would be laid to rest very close to my great aunt and only a few rows back from my beloved grandmother. It hit close to home; it wasn't a family member that had passed but he was, somehow, like a very, very distant cousin. The kind you care about but don't see, the one you'd be so happy to run into but would never call up. We walked in right after the men Matt worked with and got in line. Ethan was quiet. He knows Matt's brother very well, and his parents. Active in band for all four years, Ethan has a real relationship with the Langleys. The only relationship I had with them was Matt, aside from a Facebook connection with Josh. Ethan went first and he was fine until he saw Matt's dad. His dad had had it together, but embraced Ethan so tightly that I knew he was slowly falling a part. They cried together. He moved down the line, I hugged his family. Ethan tried, bless his heart, to tell the rest of the family who he was but he couldn't speak. When he saw Josh, who is typically a walking ball of energy and laughs, he just looked at Ethan and said, 'How about that hug now?'It broke E's heart; it broke my own. Each woman hugged me tighter, only one spoke. His grandmother. The dichotomy of that situation was astounding. Here, a woman was mourning the loss of her grandchild, while I still mourn my own grandmother. I don't know which situation is worse. The look on her face was of pain; there is no comfort in laying to rest a 22 year old 'kid'. His time was supposed to go on beyond her own, and yet, there she stood, kissing my cheek and thanking me for being there. This woman, along with her husband, were responsible for that entire church being filled; it was their legacy that had been cut so short, and yet she still found this brilliant sincerity to say thank you.

We left. Ethan tried to hide his emotions, brushed off my attempts at comforting him. He has no idea that in the moments of his weakness, when he is the most vulnerable and naive, that my heart finds a way to love him deeper. It's a side of him that I don't get to see often, but when I do, I remember it and cherish it and I thank God for it.

Recently I've been captivated at the thought of death; what it will be like, how 60 years on doesn't seem so far. It's silly almost, to assume I've got that much time left to live. I could be over tomorrow. Matt has shown me that. So unexpectedly, so quickly, his life was over. I thought a lot while we were waiting in line to see his family. I thought about how maybe I should have spent more time getting to know him, maybe I should have thought more about him and then I think that that's silly because I'm only saying that because he's dead, or am I? Maybe it takes death to make us appreciate what we've got, to make us appreciate the living. Maybe that is the point of death... through death comes rebirth of spirit, rekindling of friendships and forgiveness of those we've sworn not to forgive. Matt is teaching me through his death, through my mourning of the friend I never tried to stay in touch with.



I'll miss you, Matt. When I reminisce about high school, you will cross my mind and sometimes I might cry and other times I might smile but I will always be thankful and I will never forget you.

"Those who have been ransomed by the Lord will return. They will enter Jerusalem singing, crowned with everlasting joy. Sorrow and mourning will disappear, and they will be filled with joy and gladness." Isaiah 51:11