Asking "Why" Doesn't Always Bring Answers

It was going to be an incredibly difficult funeral.  Emotional in the most draining way.  Heartshattering in every sense of the word.

Because that's what happens when a young child dies suddenly.  

Hearts shatter.

Mine did and my mind couldn’t stop thinking of my little cousin’s Mother who’d just lost her middle son, so tragically. My mind could not wrap my head around losing a child.  My child.

I suppose none of us can.  None of us can prepare ourselves for a loss that's so monstrous.

A loss that would leave a soul gaping open.  Raw and wilted.

Devastation.

To mindfully go to that place makes me wince in agony.

Imagine?  No.  I could not.

He went out to the movies that night with 3 other friends and never came home.  The three others walked away with minor injuries.  A car crash.

As I walked into the building, then into the room where the funeral was to be held, a slideshow was flashing pictures up on the wall.

Large pictures of happiness.

Those pictures mirrored the life I’m living right now.

Boys, brothers.  Laughing, smiling, making goofy faces for the camera.  Their Mother sitting with her boys on the couch, her arm around them all.  Smiling.  Beaming. So happy.  So proud.

It was then that the dam I had built up in my chest broke wide open.

It had been years since I’d seen them all.  Nicholas was only 5 then.  Not much older than my eldest now.  I remembered his sweet face and brown eyes well.  Just like his Mother’s.  I remember his Mother, so kind.  Always smiling.  Over the years since, unfortunate events had occurred.  Nicholas's father, her husband, (my first cousin) went missing over three years ago in the coldest winter I’ve known to date.

His body has yet to be found.  It's something out of a t.v. criminal drama.  Except this is real life.

And the truth is, reality is harsh.  And it doesn't always end with the mystery solved.

I dream of him once in a while.  In those dreams he is alive.  I wonder how that is even possible but I have hope.  Faith.  We all do.

As people went up to say their words and tell their stories I watched Nicholas's Mother with her youngest, now 10 years old.  He was just an infant when I met him.  A baby.  Her baby.

I watched them together.  Her arm around him, holding him close.  Tightening at times.  Resting her cheek upon his head.  I watched her reach under the pew for more Kleenex.  Handing them to her youngest, using some herself.  I watched how they gave each other comfort, their heads tilted together and my heart ached for that boy who now had lost two heroes in his life at the tender age of 10.

I had wondered how his Mother hadn’t collapsed into a heap on the floor.

And then realized that those two handsome boys that sat by her side were the reasons why.

I sent a thanks to God that she still had them.

I allowed myself to cry like I haven’t cried in many, many years.  I let those tears fall.

And fall.

And fall some more.

Beside me were so many young faces whose tears also fell relentlessly.  Boys, girls.  16 years old with a look of forlornness I’ve never seen before.

His girlfriend of a year stood up to speak. And those that had been holding back at that point…well there was no holding back anymore.

That sweet, beautiful young girl met Nicholas last year when she'd lost her best friend.  He became her shoulder to cry on.  He had helped her through that huge, devastating loss.   

Now where was she to go?  That poor girl...I will think of her often over the years.  No one should bear such heartbreak at that young age.  One thing is certain.  At least this I hope this will be true – her future husband will be a great man.  For he will have to live up to the legacy of Nicholas.  And that will not be easy.  He was, most certainly, a very special boy.

The pastor read a letter; to Nicholas from his Mother.  I braced myself.  I wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Anger, sadness, confusion.  Why’s and how could this happen?!

That's what I would be doing.

asking. screaming. yelling at the world.

No.  There was none of that.

It was full of love, grace, tenderness and thanksgiving for having had known him, having mothered him.  Having had loved him.

As his casket was rolled out, the bagpipes began, outward sobbing began, tears fell evermore and we all filed out and into a beautifully bright and sunny day.

I found myself among a sea of sadness under sunshine surrounded by sixteen year old boys holding each other and weeping with a wretchedness I never, ever, please Dear God, ever want to see again.

Then the wind pick up, and swirled almost like a perfect figure eight around almost 500 bodies.  The long hair on my head almost stood up on end like the hair on my arms did then.

And I knew in my heart that it was something from Nicholas.

Perhaps a kiss.  Or an embrace.

I hoped that everyone else had felt it too. 

My Personal Creed
(Nicholas wrote this when he was 14)

I believe that everyone is equal.

I believe that everything happens for a reason.

I believe that music can touch your soul.

I believe that nobody is perfect.

I believe that peace is achievable.

I believe that it is best to be yourself.

I believe that our greatest gift is freedom.

I believe that prayer can make or break your day.

I believe there is only one God.

I believe that we must learn to forgive.

I believe that all we need is love.

Nicholas Taylor

2010