I never thought that the next time I'd travel to see Christian would be to attend his funeral. I thought maybe I'd head down to Wellington someday to see what all the fuss was about, or catch him on a trip through Tryon for dinner and maybe play some cards. Sometimes things just don't work out that way though and it seems like the universe falls back into chaos.
The service was lovely and touching. The pastors found a way to capture the unfathomable loss, the palpable depth of love, the unfairness, the support we all felt being together, and maybe just a glimmer of hope.
"I found myself admiring Christian, which is odd for an adult to admire a teenager... When I grow up, I want to be like Christian," reflected his uncle.
"Find the feeling you had @ full gallop every now and then," quoted his friend Maggie from a note he left for her.
"I love you till my head pops off... and my arms, and my legs," said Anne, his mother. A saying they ended most conversations with since he was a small child.
I spent some time with Anne afterwards. Ever since hearing the news, I was gripped by a need to wrap my arms around her as tight as they could go and it felt good to do that. It's hard to find the words to say; we want to make it better, to say something to help heal the wound, but what words are there? I told her I could only imagine the pain she felt, only knowing my own feeling of loss. She responded no, grief affects all of us. There is no scale or measurement to gauge or compare.
To me, it seems that grief is a broken heart and for each of us it shatters into a different number of pieces. That initial punch in the gut, finding out what's happened, is the most profound. From that point on, we start gathering up the pieces one by one. The more we put together we start to move from that initial stage of loss, to remembering the person, remembering the good and the bad. Eventually we may even put that heart back together again. It might take weeks, months, years, decades, lifetimes, but every little piece we gather up makes us feel a little more whole again. It might be a memory, hearing their voice, seeing a rainbow, thinking of a joke, singing with a favorite song, but each moment and small smile adds up over time.
There was quite a bit of karaoke and dancing, revelry, snowman building, and s'mores making after the service. I think Christian would have approved. Joy amidst grief. Strength with the pain. Smiles between tears. I don't think we could ever forget that force of positivity, no matter how many years go by.
Thanks for the smiles, thanks for the joy, thanks for being you and inspiring us to work harder. You may be lost, but will never be forgotten.