Friends: No Fear, No Regret, He Just Ran Out of Breath

Today marked yet another first for me in the face of death.  I went to visit with my friend Connors parents to offer my condolences in the death of their only son.  Connor is the one friend I had that challenged our friendship every step of the way.  We had very little in common, but it was enough to bond us in a friendship that held tight for five years.  We were both 15 when we first met, after each of us landed on a pick up hockey team together.  We both would turn 20 this August, had he not died last night in an unexpected twist to his evening. 

The differences between who Connor was and who I am were not that far off.  We both enjoyed many of the same things.  Girls, hockey, video games, playing the guitar, and hanging with the boys.  We both reached for excellence in the things we found important to us.  We both achieved high GPA's, we both scored high on the SAT's.  We both knew after high school, college was something we would need later in our lives.  We both enjoyed spending time with our families and valued the friends we had and tried to be the kind of friend to them we wanted them to be to us.

What separated us from each other was how Connor lived his life and how I sheltered myself in mine.  Connor lived life with no fear and no regrets.  I live mine full of fear of failing and regret of not allowing myself to live the life of a normal guy my age.  Connor was nothing more than a typical teenage guy who was going to experience as much as he could, as fast as he could, so when he was ready to 'settle' down all that was behind him.  I am nothing more than an untypical teenage guy who early on in his life set goals and avoided anything that might hinder those goals or cost me the chance to achieve them.

Among our friends parents, Connor was the bad kid and I was the good kid.  Connor was the trouble maker, and I was the peace maker.  Connor was the kid the parents did not want you hanging around and I was the kid every mother loved.  Most of Connors friends parents did not know their kids were still hanging with Connor.  My dad did know and did not really approve of it but he also knew the biggest difference between Connor and myself was that while Connor took risks in life, I did not, therefore I would not be led into anything that may deter my future effort from meeting the goals I have set.

My dad would be the first to tell you Connor was not a bad kid, he just made poor decisions.  In fact my dad would tell you that not only did he do many of the same things Connor did when he was his age, he did by far worse things.  But he would also tell you that today's world is different and the slaps on the wrist when he was a teenager were now slaps on your record in today's world.  Connor lived on the edge and because of that his reputation was tarnished.  Most of his friends, including me, never did more than walk the line.  We never crossed it, for fear of the unknown when you got caught.  Connor had no fear and knew he could work things out whenever the edge lead him to slips and falls.  Yesterday would be the day Connor slipped over the edge and before he could catch himself, it would be too late.

A night of alcohol and drugs would prove to be the poison that finally caught up with my friend Connor.  With a great amount of certainty I can tell you that Connors last day on earth was not out of the ordinary for a Friday in Connors life.  I can also tell you with a great amount of certainty that the people Connor was with were not his normal group of friends that followed him into an evening of typical teenage fun and antics.  There will always be details we will never find out about Connors last day on earth.  It will take weeks to find out everything we can about his final day of life.  What they could tell his parents was that over 100 people were at the party Connor was at.  Yet when Connor was found unresponsive there was not a single person near him that could make an effort to revive him.   There were plenty of witness's that could tell you how he had been drinking for 12 hours and how for the last two hours he was seen taking pills, smoking pot, and injecting drugs into himself.  They can tell you how he fell to the ground, laying on his back, convulsing with his eyes rolling back so far you could only see the whites of his eyeballs.  What none of them could tell you is this kids name was Connor and he was only 19.

Connors dad told me that at 3:30am they received a phone call from the PD, informing them that their son had OD'd and was in the ER.  They had given him CPR and he was being treated for overdosing on alcohol and unknown drugs at this time.  By the time they had arrived at the ER, Connor was gone.  He had died alone, no friends standing by him, no family even aware that the last time they had seen him a day before would be the last memory they had of him.  I received the text from Connors older sister this morning, telling me Connor was gone, that he had slipped out of his fearless life, doing what he did best ... trying to beat the odds.  Today when I went to see Connors family I saw his mom, who was forever apologizing to others for Connors behavior, and his dad, who never apologized for who Connor was but often would say to Connor, why can you not be more like your friends?  I saw his sisters, one older, one younger, who loved their brother deep and who he loved back even deeper.  A family of five, suddenly a family of four who would have to learn to survive without the boy who completed their family unit. 

What do you tell a grieving family who just experienced the unexpected loss of a son?  What could possibly comfort them after the way his life tragically ended?   The words were not in me to speak.  I excused myself and went to sit in Connors room to get close to the friend that would never sleep in his bed again.  I sat on that bed and tried to absorb as much as I could about our friendship over the past 5 years.  His skates and his sticks leaned against the wall which brought back memories of the day we met.  His Hab's sweater hung over a chair in front of his desk.  His cowboy kicks and brim lid sat on the floor, reminding me of his country music roots.  This room was everything Connor was.  From the smokes on his dresser to the guitar hanging on the wall.  A 12x14 room that represented the life he lived.  Not the bad boy trouble maker reputation so many thought of him as.  Not the law breaking teenager mothers feared their kids hanging around.  Not the kid who had no fears and no regrets.

This was Connors life and it hardly seemed possible that he no longer had a life to live.  This room was still very much Connor to me.  I would need to come to grips with the fact that never again would I skate with him.  Or sing with him.  Or throw a football with him.  No more arguments between us.  No more hugs when one of made a goal in a game we both loved.  No more texts telling me it was time to stroll through the park and roll bums and preach to hookers.  I was feeling like the small edge I got on when I was with Connor was gone.  No more preaching to him what alcohol and drugs could do to a life and no more lectures from him to me about living a little, pushing the envelope, losing some fear.

There would be no peace of mind walking out of Connors life for me today.  A life you never expect to lose, a friend you can't ever imagine never walking by your side again.  A sadness would walk out of this house with me today that I would never be able to explain.  I got up to go speak to his family and as I was headed out of his room I noticed a card I had given Connor on his last birthday pinned to a board by his desk.  On the outside of the card there was a guy dressed as a devil and next to him was a guy dressed as an angel.  I remember picking out that card because it represented the differences that others saw in us.  When you opened the card there were two male strippers dressed identical to each other.  Written on the inside was "They only judge what they see on the outside, and they miss what they fail to see on the inside."  It was a joke between us many times because like I said, Connor and I were more alike than others would ever know.  I grabbed the card and went to find his family.  I asked their permission to take and keep that card as a tribute to the friendship we shared.  They were happy to let me.

I hugged each of his family members and held a little tighter hugging his mom.  No words were spoken, because what do you say to the family of someone who just lost a son, a brother, a friend?   Looking in the faces of the four people that loved him more than any others I saw confusion, fear, sadness and sorrow.  In a few days there would be anger and blame.  I know the process all to well and I wish no one ever had to go through the grieving process ever again.  I offered myself to anything they might need from me, anyway I could help, they just needed to let me know.  One more I was sorry for this loss of life and I would exit Connors home one last time.  I would make my final respects when details of his services emerge.  Until then, I walk away with a whole new sadness in my heart for the journey that ended for my friend.

"Only by being prepared for your death can you ever truly live."   Christopher Moore

Friends: Talking to Me about Me

You can learn a lot about someone in 72 hours when you devote all your time and attention to be with them.  That is what I had the privilege to do this past weekend after being invited to go camping with Carlos and his mom as they spent an annual gathering with her side of the family.  Those of you that have followed the blogs by Gracie and me might remember Carlos is one of the fourth graders I student taught this past school year and the boy who opted to write Gracie a letter rather than making her a card with the rest of the class.  He also is the student that lost his little brother in a tragic accident when he was hit and killed by a driver while riding his tricycle in front of his house.

I am not really the overnight outdoor type of guy.  I like the comfort of my own bed, the indoor coolness my house provides on the hottest of days, meals that are made in the kitchen of that home, and the Misfits that share that home with me.  You might remember how much I despise fishing but constantly get drug into doing it, mostly because I have friends who like to watch me squirm baiting hooks and catching fish.  So why would I agree to camp outdoors, sleep in a tent, explore an island, and eat food made over a campfire?  Because it was a pinky swear, and so far I have only ever broke one of them with Gracie.

"When I die Jett, when God tells me I am ready to start my journey with him, you cannot be sad.  You have to be strong for my mommy and my daddy because they will need someone to help them remember all the fun times.  And you cannot cry you know, because if you do, I will see you, you know."

I wanted to keep all of our pinky promises because I loved Gracie that much and I did not want to let her down.  It was just too difficult, just as I cannot stop being sad and cry because I miss Joey and wish he did not have to leave me.  I miss her, and I love her, and yes, I still cry when I lay down at night and think about how much I miss her.  We literally have close to 100 pinky promises we made to each other, and if that is the only one I struggle to keep, I consider myself doing pretty darn well.

I was reminded of another one of my pinky promises with Gracie when Carlos' mom called to invite me on their camping trip with them.  She had told me that Carlos was wanting me to go with them so he could sleep in the tent, like he used to do with his little brother, Manny, each year they went.

"We should pinky promise that you will have fun with Carlos sometimes so he can have fun and his brother can watch from Heaven and be happy that Carlos is smiling and laughing."

So my answer s yes, and I was actually very excited to go on this mini camping trip.  All week I had been thinking about what I would load my cooler with and what I would pack in our grocery bags with for Carlos and I.  His mom had given us the go ahead on anything we wanted.  Carlos was free to junk food binge with me and he had two rules only this weekend.  One was to watch his language, and two was to respect others.  I was good with that.  Carlos had told me from his past experiences of sleeping in a tent to remember to bring a long sleeve shirt and long sweat bottoms to sleep in, because it gets cold at night when the sun goes down.  The Thursday before the Friday we were to leave I took my junk list and headed to the store to fill up on soda's and treats.  Rootbeer, Grape, Orange, Mt Dew and some juices.  Twizzlers, peanuts, orange slices, circus peanuts, a mixture of off the wall junk candy.  The makings for s'mores, Hostess cupcakes, packages of crackers, and a few other assorted junk cakes.  A bag of ice for the cooler.  Now all I had to do was pack my backpack and wait for Friday at 5pm when I was to pick up Carlos and his mom and head for the camp ground.  This was exciting and I could only hope that Carlos was excited as I was.

Once we had loaded up all the food and camping gear when I got to Carlos', him, his mom and I headed off for the short drive to the camp grounds.  We would be there by 7pm and when we arrived their extended family would be there, set up for the weekend and ready for 72 hours of non-stop fun.  Carlos and I pitched our two man tent, loaded it up with our cooler of drinks and our bags of groceries which we stored in a cooler from Carlos' house, "so the bears don't smell our food", he told me.  WHAT?  What do you mean bears?  And at that moment we enjoyed our first of many laughs for the weekend.

I had no agenda for the time I would spend with Carlos and his family.  This was his weekend, and his family was familiar with this area so he would know what he would want to do.  He already knew I was up for anything he had planned, with the exception of getting bit by snakes, eaten by a bear, or sprayed by a skunk.  I would put these next three days into his hands and whatever I walked away with from this bonding camp trip would be all bonus.  

The relationship we were building on this summer was a bit non-existent outside of the classroom environment.  We had bonded a bit with the death of his brother Manny, and my friend Gracie.  Even that bond was weak as far as details went, but I was sure to get closer to Carlos heart then when we first pulled out of his driveway early evening on Friday.  

We spent the first hour with his family, him greeting them and his mom introducing me to them.  I figured I was going to have to make a lot of assumptions not knowing the family history of Carlos and the very first one I made was that Carlos was by years the youngest of his cousins, and the only male.  I could see how he would want another guy this weekend to hang with, after all these girls were surely not going to want to hunker down and get dirty and binge on so much sugar we were sure to melt if we hit water.  

Carlos taught me a lot on this weekend get-a-way from pitching a tent to walking quietly around the camp ground in efforts to sneak up and scare the comfort right out of the adult relatives of his.  I was excited to learn how to pitch a tent and cannot wait to impress my 5 year old nephew with my new found skill. He's been trying to get me to sleep in his tent since Papa Jake bought him one.  I learned so much more this weekend then just things regarding camping.  Sure all that was exciting and fun and I got to live it from the perspective of a soon to be fifth grader.  I've found out quickly how much more fun and exciting things are through the eyes of a child.  Not just with Carlos, but with my nephews and nieces as well, and I cannot leave out Gracie, who taught me so much about my faith then I thought I ever needed to know.

Because Carlos and I were up late into the overnight we would nap and lounge around during the day when the sun was at its hottest.  This allowed us to get to know more about each other.  Our fears, our dreams, our goals.  The things we had in common, and the things that made us different.  I had already decided I was not going to push Carlos into any conversations but would engage myself in anything he wanted to share.  It wasn't long before he was talking about his brother who had died tragically after being hit by a car.  Carlos started to share with me all the things he missed about his brother being gone.

"He was my best friend even though he was my brother."
"We always played outside together and had lots of fun."
"We would fight sometimes, but mostly we got a long good."
"It was fun teaching my brother things and helping him learn lots."

Endless talk about how much he loved his brother and how much he misses his brother.  Thoughts about where his brother might be now and if he is in pain.  Questions about heaven and how that works when you get to heaven.  A bit of anger about how this could be allowed to happen to him and his mother.  I just listened for as long as he needed to talk.  I remained quiet as he spoke, but my mind was reeling with memories of how much I missed Joey.  Listening to Carlos was like reliving those days.  The things he was saying were almost identical to the things I had gone through in my mind after Joey died.  I still hold on to many of those questions that are still not answered.  I thought about how Carlos was eight when his brother died and I was 14 when Joey died.  How I am soon to be 20 and I still miss him terrible.  I think about how long Carlos has to go in his efforts to understand such a sad time in his life.  I feel bad for him, knowing that the sadness never really leaves you, you just learn how to continue on without that buddy that got taken away so quickly.

Carlos goes quiet and I ask him if he is OK?  He shakes his head yes, but him and I both know, this is not going to go away anytime soon.  I took the next few moments to express to Carlos how I share many of those same thoughts.  The whys of it all, the what ifs of it all.  We talked about those feelings for a bit before we decided we should chug on some soda's and dig into our sinful cooler full of the awesome foods only allowed on rare occasions like family gatherings and holidays and treat days at school.  We were full of junk food the to point of over flowing belly's.  We kicked back on our air mattresses inside the two man tent that held our coolers of deliciousness.  We both drifted off, quietly, probably each of us thinking about the sadness we carried in our hearts.  When we woke up, it was time to join his family for some campfire cooking.  "Hurry and eat", he would tell me, "we have lots to do!"

It was a great 72 hours of fun and we fit so much exploring and food into it the weekend seemed to be here and gone before we knew it.  It was Monday and we had eaten lunch and decided to rest up inside our tent, finishing off what soda and snacks we could.  I pulled out my backpack and took out a journal I had brought with me.  I opened it up on one of the coolers and begin to write a few thoughts down regarding this trip.  Inside my backpack was another journal, one I had bought to give to Carlos if I felt the timing was right.  It was a camouflage journal with a pen that was red, white and blue.  I was unsure if I would give it to Carlos but when he came over and sat down next to me and looked at my journal I thought this might work out after all.  He was questioning about my journal and when I told him this was "our" journal, the journal of the journey of Carlos and Jett, his eyes lit up a bit.

I explained to him that I am a writer, an aspiring journalist who someday would like to share my journey on earth with others.  I explained that my journals are my story and it is a way for me to not only capture my thoughts but to also learn more about myself.  I explained that I had well over 100 journals that I have written in or am still writing in.  How I have a journal for each person in my life that I felt has gotten me further along in my faith, and my goal of getting to someday walk with Jesus when this journey has ended.  My very first journal was the one I wrote in after Joey died.  How I decided that I needed to be able to express myself openly without someone offering me some sort of comfort.  That after he died, everyone had advice for me and told me do not cry, or do not be angry.  How they would tell me I need to accept he is gone, and move on.  So I decided that one thing that would not talk back, try to comfort me, or try to convince my sadness was holding me back from  having fun and moving on, was me, talking to me.

I started to write messages to myself on individual pieces of paper.  I liked that I could write down anything I wanted and my journal could not talk back to me.  It became a better listener to me then the people around me trying to comfort me.  The first Christmas after Joey died, when I had already moved to Boston, my brother gave me a journal and a pen.  I often take that journal out and read it, and compare my feelings then to my feelings now.  I told Carlos how it just snowballed from that point on and here I am almost 6 years later and I have over 100 journals.  Some became so full I had to start a volume 2 to keep up with myself.

I explained to Carlos that I just did not journal the great times in my life, that I also wrote down things when I was sad, or angry, or confused, about the things happening to me.  I explained that there are times when I take out my "Me talking to Me" journal just to write a message to myself, because sometimes, you just want someone to listen, and not offer any advice, or try to fix you.  

Carlos was listening to me now, as I had been listening to him all weekend.  I grabbed my back pack and pulled out the little gift I had brought for him.  I asked him if he felt he might like to try starting a journal, where he could write his feelings down, and just get it out of his mind without having anyone offer him advice or comfort of how they think he should be dealing, or what he should be feeling.  He gladly accepted this gift and moved back over to his end of the tent, pulling the second cooler closer to him and right then and there he begin his first journal. 

We spent the last hour together in that tent, quietly writing in our journals.  I have no idea what Carlos was writing but he was working away dutifully.  I watched him as he shut his journal and put it along with his pen into his back pack.  I put my things away as well.  We loaded up the truck, broke down the tent and loaded that up as well.  We said our goodbyes to Carlo's family and hit the road for the short ride back to our homes.  I dropped Carlos and his mom off at their house, unloaded their things and thanked his mom for inviting me to join them, and I thanked Carlos for everything he taught me in the past three days.  A knuckle bump and a hug and I would climb back in my truck and head for home.

I sat in their driveway for a few minutes to reflex on my relaxing, no worries weekend with my newest little friend.  I buckled up my seat belt and was about to turn my engine when I heard a little knock on my driver side window.  I looked, it was Carlos.  I put the window down to hear what Carlos had to say.

"Thanks for the nice weekend Jett, I'm glad you didn't get eaten by a bear."  Two of the biggest smiles in the world were now looking at one another.  "It was fun Carlos, I will call you in a couple weeks and maybe we can go see a show.  Oh, and yeah, I'm pretty stoked I didn't get eaten by a bear."

I drove off looking back in my rear few mirror.  I would come back this way again very soon, and hopefully I would help make fun memories for Carols to write in his journal and many things to add to my newest journal, "The Adventures of Carlos and Jett".

Friends: Faith in the Prayers of our Youth

I overheard a conversation the other day between two grandmother aged women regarding praying.  They were discussing today's world and how it seems no one really stops to pray anymore.  They were in agreement that if we allowed more prayers in the classrooms and if we had more of today's youth involved in a weekly church program, the future of the world would not seem so bleak.  I sat quietly at the lunch table listening to them carry on about the kids of today's world and how we are doomed because of the separation of church and state.

I tried to avoid making eye contact with them because I was sure they felt I was "one of those kids" they were talking about.  I have never run from my faith, I believe what I believe.  I did not want to be part of this conversation with these elderly women who were convinced there was not enough praying going on in today's world.  Not because I disagreed with them, but because I was sure my thoughts on the topic would not fit into the points they were making.

"Do you pray?", one of them said.  I looked at them, to see if it was in fact I who they were talking to.  "Yes, I pray each day, often several times."

"What do you pray for?", asked the other.  "Well, sometimes I just say the prayers my church has taught me to pray.  Sometimes I pray for peace in third would country's in hopes that they will gain the civilization and freedom I get to live in.  Sometimes I pray for others who I know are experiencing a dip in their faith due to a hardship.  Sometimes I just pray for strength for myself, so I can get through another day in a world where I feel defeated."

"Do you read the bible your church offers to you?", the first woman said to me.  "Yes, I read the bible daily.  While I do not always understand the words that are written or the message I am being offered, I have disciplined myself to read the passages and spend the rest of the day churning the words in my mind to see if I can solve the mystery of the message."

"Do you attend services your church provides?", the second woman asked.  "I do attend mass on Sunday mornings and I take my nephews and niece with me as often as I can."

The women are satisfied with my answers and continue their conversation.  It is not long before the second woman says to me, "Do you feel your prayers are always answered?  Or do you continue to pray for the same things over and over again?"   Guessing this conversation now involved me I move closer to the women and join them at their end of the lunch table.  "I do not pray to get things I want, or things I need, or things I feel I deserve.  I feel I can work hard enough in life to get those things and the things I feel I deserve may not be the things anyone else feels I do.  When I pray, I pray for results with a clear understanding that how my prayers are answered may not be the result I want.  Therefore I have to incorporate faith into my spiritual world and believe that God knows what he is doing and except the results I get when I pray."

A bit more banter back and forth between the three of us, all really pretty much expressing the same beliefs regarding the power of prayer and how it works, or at least how we feel it should work, and lunch is over.  But the conversation lingers on in my mind the rest of the afternoon.  Mostly because of the time I had spent with Gracie during the most challenging time in her short life and the conversations we held regarding God and prayers and how one should pray.

Gracie and I spent so much time together and a lot of that time was spent talking about what her journey with God would be like once he allowed her to come home to him.  She had many questions she wanted answered regarding death and where it takes us, just as many as I had regarding life and where it takes us.  It's amazing when you think about that sentence, because while we both were looking at faith from a different angle, we both were thinking about what each of our future holds.  One in dying, and one in living.   Many times I would ask Grace what she prayed for.  There was not one time I asked her that question that she provided me with an answer that she was praying for herself.  She was always praying for someone else.

"Today in my prayers I asked God to keep my parents together forever and not let Him taking me from them, take them from each other."

"Today I asked God to please help all the families of all the people with cancer stay strong for each other and find ways to show them that He loves them."

"Today I asked God to make you strong Jett, and help your heart know that I will be forever better and never be sick again when I get to him."

I thought how ironic that the little girl everyone was praying for in this most difficult time was praying for everyone else.  I remember being very careful in what I was praying for regarding Grace, as to not upset the journey she was on and the one she was about to take. I knew that I could not reasonably pray for her to 'get well' because that to me was a wasted prayer as it was very clear she would lose the battle of her fight with cancer.  I was cautious to not pray for her to live longer than God had intended her to live because that would not be fair to Gracie to suffer longer than what was dealt to her before she even entered into the world.  Mostly when I prayed to God regarding Gracie it was that when it was time for her to end her journey on earth it would be as painless and quick as possible so her suffering was minimal and her journey to God was a peaceful beautiful walk in his park as she waited for her angel guide to come for her and take her home at last.  I always felt that was a safe prayer that would be a reasonable request of God.

I guess I've not really ever thought so much about praying.  How to go about it.  What should I say?  What would God want me to say?  Prayer has always come natural to me. To me there is no place more peaceful and hopeful then the time I spend sitting in the pews at church.  It is those times that I see the world through rose colored glasses and it is those times I am able to clearly sit and reflect all that is good in my life.  I never really think about praying when I am sitting in God's house, my thoughts just flow nicely and freely of how thankful I am for everything that I have experienced in life.

As hard as life has been at times for me, I know that I would not be on the path I need to be without those challenges.  Do not mistake me though, I do get angry about the hurdles that slow me down and force me to reflect on who I am, and who God wants me to be.  Every time we experience things in our life we need to remember it is not a test, it is not a punishment, it is not to shake our faith.  It is to get us positioned in life to where God needs us to be.  Whenever I feel challenged, whenever I feel something great has been taken away from me, I try to remember it is for a reason.  I like to believe that reason is to get me nearer someone in life that needs me in one way or another.  Each struggle I face I feel has made me stronger.  It has challenged my faith, and it has forced me to re-evaluate the strength of my faith.  It is how my faith grows.


It wasn't long after I landed in Boston to live with my brother Jordy that I sought out a church where I could go to get away from the world that I felt was chasing me down, often catching up to me, and leaving scars so deep they would never heal.  I welcomed myself into many churches, of many different faiths until I found one that I felt fit me.  I found that in the catholic church, up front, in the first pew to the left, in front of the pulpit that would capture my attention when the gospel was read.  The same pulpit that the priest would stand at each week and explain to his congregation what the readings were about and how they related to our lives today.  At times I felt the message being relayed was directed right towards the fears I faced outside God's house.  My very first 'bible' was actually the missal booklet we used at church to following the readings.  I had asked the priest if I could take one home with me so I could read ahead for the next weeks readings and see if I could pick out the same message he would relay to us.  It wasn't but a couple of weeks later when Father Thomas presented me with my very first legit bible! 

I currently own four bibles, one I carry with me on Sundays, the one Father gave to me is stored away for safe keeping, one I read at home at night and in the mornings, often highlighting the passages that I feel I already understand the message in, and a final one that I open for one reason only, to add the name of those I wish to pray for on a daily basis.  It it full of names scattered throughout the pages in varies colors of ink.  Before I go to sleep at night and when I wake up in the morning I put my hand on top of the bible and say a united prayer for all those whose names are written inside the covers of it.

There is only one thing I want for myself even more then becoming a successful writer, and that is to be the best christian I can be, not only while I am still on earth, but when I get to that big beautiful space way up above the clouds.  I know I am not even close, but I do feel I am on the right path.  I feel there are many of us on the right path and that we are all reaching for that goal of being the best person we can be, for whatever reason we feel we are not.

The following day after I joined the conversation with the elder lunch ladies who brought me into their conversation I made a point to sit with them again, because I had a message for them that I should have given to them the day before.  It is something that weighed on my mind all night long because as I said before, I have never run from my faith.

"Ladies, I strongly disagree with something that was said yesterday.  You had made mention that perhaps if today's youth were more involved in church programs the world would not be so bleak. You made mention of how we are doomed due to the way kids are today.  I would challenge you on those statements and invite you to my church on any given Saturday afternoon, Sunday morning, or Wednesday evening and see how many of today's youth are attending church functions and involving themselves in the community.  I would ask that you take a look around in today's world and notice how many kids today come from broken homes, or abused situations, or have no father figure, or mother figure, to guide them in a life of faith and hope.  Kids all over the world who walk the streets looking for someone to take interest in them and teach them how to survive in a world where adults so easily give up on themselves.  How weak the family structures have become since you were children.  It is not the youth that has given up on God and lost faith in a life of eternal bliss with Him.  It is the adults that have misguided that direction and through the lack of faith they have for themselves have failed to give their children a healthy happy environment."

I was not sure if I offended these ladies with my bold opinion on how I felt it was the adults in today's world that were failing in faith and today's youth were reaching out for survival without their parents, often finding it on the streets with others who had no direction in life while many of today's youth were making the decision to get themselves involved with a church where they can be hopeful of a future  not only on earth, but in the afterlife as well.  I did not intend to disrespect either of these women, but in my heart I knew I had to express my opinion on the topic.  I sat and waited for one or the either to 'put this kid in his place'.  I got no response so I excused myself and went back to my work station to begin my afternoon. 

The next day when I punched in to work and went to my work station there was a bible sitting at the desk I work at.  It was a solid jet black bible and I could tell it was new.  I opened the bible and written was this message ...

Jett, thank you for setting a couple of old ladies straight about faith in the modern world.  We are living proof that one is never to old to learn and strengthen their faith, not only in God but also in the youth that will certainly carry this world to peace.   Maria and Frannie

Friends: Lessons of Death

Death will hit most of our lives in many ways before we ourselves are the ones that leave the comforts of earth for the comforts of heaven.  I myself have witnessed it in many forms in the past five years with the latest occurring just last week.

My first experience with death was when I was almost six.  My family was in Omaha, NE for the Fourth of July weekend at my Uncle Steve's house.  It was Friday, July 3, 1998 and I do not remember anything more about that day other then my little sister getting hit and killed.  It has all become a distant memory for me and I remember very little about Jacelyn.  I wish my sister did not die and I often wonder where she would be in life today had she not gotten backed over on the bicycle she was riding by a car pulling out of the driveway.  She would have been three on July 7th of that year.   Instead of celebrating her third birthday, we let go of her life on earth with us and never spoke of Jacelyn again.  It would be years later before I would revisit that July 3rd and 'get to know' my little sister, who would never be more then part of my past.

My second experience with death would occur two and a half years later, when I was four months past the age of eight.  My oldest brother Jayson had just turned 24 and was on his way home from college near Des Moines, IA when he was hit head on by a drunk driver.  They said he probably died instantly and more then likely felt very little, if any, pain, with no suffering.  That tragic event happened on December 15, 2000, again on a Friday.  Instead of celebrating Christmas with him that year, we let go of his life on earth with us and never spoke of Jayson again.  I am currently in search of the friends he had in college, to try to learn more about who he was.  I was four when Jayson left home for the college life, and saw him maybe a total of 45 days a year when he would find his way home to Bushnell.  He was my brother, and I love him, but the years separating us in age did not allow us to bond as brothers often do.

My third experience with death would be the one that hit me the hardest yet.  My brother Joey died at the age of 24 of lung cancer.  I was 14 the year he died.  Unlike my other two siblings who died in tragic, sudden ways, I watched Joey slowly lose his battle with cancer, and sometime with-in a span of a year or so I would be next to him as his last breath of life was lost.  That last breath he took on earth was on Wednesday, Feb 7, 2007 and it is etched in my mind and on my heart.  I can relive that day as if it happened just moments ago.  Joey was my hero, my big protective brother, who told me several times before he was diagnosed with cancer that he would never let any harm come to me again.  I trusted him, and I believed in him, and I looked up to him in so many ways that I wanted to be just like him.

Joey's death was my first 'real death' experience.  It was the death that would define how people spoke to me about dying.  It was the death I could not just let go of a life and never speak of again.  It was the death that for five plus long years I would think about every day.  It was the death that would define my belief in God.  It was the death that would jump start the spiritual side of me.  It was also the death I would try and hold myself accountable for.  Maybe when I revealed my secrets to him and asked him to help me with them, it was too much.  Maybe I had tested the faith of God by trying to seek resolution to my problems through someone other than Him.  I didn't know what I did that Joey died, but I was sure I was responsible.

There have been many deaths in my life since I moved to Boston, MA.  My mom, Old Widow G, Old Joe and his wife Mary, our friend Dr. Pat's husband, my little angel friend Gracie, and several others.  There was even our little dog Joey that died.  The most recent was someone I had just met three weeks ago and although I did not know her very well I miss her warm smiles at work.  Then there are my friends who have had losses that effected me in others ways.  My great great friend Kim's nephew Matt, who I did not know but I talk with her about often.  And my Aunt OJ's aunt that passed away a bit over a year ago that I never met but I know it effected her deeply.  My friend Cory who's best friend passed away.  Several of my friends have lost a parent, or a sibling, or a child, in one fashion or another.

Death effects each of us in different ways but the one thing we all have tugging at our hearts is what we could have done to have a different outcome other than losing someone we love.  Others tell us to 'move on', or 'let go', or even 'its part of life' in an effort to comfort our aching hearts.  I have heard it all, trust me.  But exactly what do you tell someone to comfort them when you know they are hurting?  There are no words, there are no actions, that will make death any easier for us. We feel violated, we feel betrayed, we feel helpless and hopeless.  "Time will heal all wounds", "it just takes time", "in time the pain will lessen'.   I call bull.  I have been there.  The pain today for my brother Joey being gone is as strong as it was the day he died.  I do not expect it to go away ever. 

What has helped me through all the deaths I have witnessed in my short life is faith in God.  It is not what can I do to turn back the hands of time and avoid the pain and heartaches of untimely deaths, it is what can I do to continue to honor the lives of those whose were cut short.  Whether it was due to illness, tragedy at the hands of others, or self inflicted by someone who could find no peace here on earth, each life while it walked the face of earth served a purpose under the watchful eye of God.  Everyone leaves behind some sort of legacy that should teach us how to conduct ourselves in a deeper faith in what we all will someday face.

I was told at one point to "never look back, keep moving forward".  I tell you this my friends, I will always look back at what was.  I will never forget those who helped define my idea of death and how it teaches me to appreciate those still here, and develop myself to be better so when I get to heaven I can reunite with all those who left before me.  I will continue to learn more about life as the people in my life die.  My friend Keri who lives in Omaha, NE lost her mother over a year ago.  Today would have been her mothers birthday and Keri has found the strength to celebrate this day as if her mom never left.  I am positive there were tears of sorrow, but also tears of happiness for the memories she holds onto of her mom.  Her strength in continuing to honor the life her mom lived is inspiring.  Keri often says "if you have not experienced the loss of a loved one, you just don't understand the pain those of us that have, feel in our hearts".   Solid and legit words that echo in my mind often.

Life moves forward, but it would not if we did not experience the death of others.  We do not determine who stays and who goes, if we did it would be a completely different population on earth.  We should not question others, or ourselves, on how people die.  We should never cast blame on others that cause the death of our loved ones.  We should never judge those who chose to end their lives for whatever reason.   We should hold onto the memories of better days and look for different ways to embrace death that takes others onto their journey to God.  When we question what we could have done different we are really questioning God's plan for our future with him.  Having faith in what death brings to our lives will not take away or even ease the pain of loved ones being gone.   Having faith is accepting that they are gone, and that they are now in God's hands, and they are the watchful eyes God has placed on us so we can keep moving forward, caught between looking back at the memories we have of them, as well looking further ahead in anticipation of new memories to come.

To my friend Sue:  Do not let the mixed feelings of anger and sadness cloud the good memories and legacy of Matt.  Where he could not find happiness and peace within himself on earth, rest assured he is watching over you and your family, enjoying from above what he could not find in himself to enjoy on earth.  Peace has found him and he is now in a place where he asked to be where things in his mind now make sense.  His legacy lives in the two beautiful daughters he now guides through their days from Heaven.  While his heart could not keep a steady beat on earth, it is beating strong from above.  Hugs to you and your aching heart.  Let go of the anger, put aside your blame, and slowly you will feel your heart filling back up with more love for Matt than you ever thought it could hold.  When I miss Gracie and Joey, I lay back in the lounge chair on the deck and watch the clouds roll by, looking for their feet hanging over the edges.  You are not alone, you are never alone.  Wishing you peace of mind, Jett