Some years go by, and you barely remember much of what happened. Some are so monumental that they're forever ingrained on your mind. Some go quickly, and some go slowly. Some seem particularly negative, and some are clearly positive.
This year wasn't like "some" other year. It was monumental, but I lose most of the small things that happened in the shadow cast by the large things that happened. It seems to have been slow and tedious, but when I really consider it, it was so quick. And I look at what happened and see both positive and negative. This year had no either/or; it had no this or that. It was a bit of everything on both sides of the spectrum.
It was monumental for a few reasons. Leroy, my youth leader and greatest example for how to live a Godly life, died a year ago today in a sudden car accident. He happened to take a different route home from work that day and a tractor trailer came (for no known reason) across the median and killed him in an instant. Of course, he wasn't wearing a seatbelt or shoes, which was his custom, but it wouldn't have mattered. A tractor trailer going 75 mph into the front of your car cannot turn out well.
I remember the big moments of it all. My best friend and his neice, Chelcee, called to tell me. I remember the silent sobbing I heard as I said "hello?" I remember her words, "Bub's gone." I remember the shattering of my heart and the instant numbness. I remember praying with my parents and pleading God to revive him, to somehow tell me that it had been just a chance for God to manifest himself and perform a miracle. I couldn't imagine the world without him. I remember sitting in the church making the collages for his memorial, cutting out pictures of him and his wife, children, family, and youth group. It hadn't sunk in at all. I remember going into the church gym and sitting at the tables at which he taught us so many lessons. I silently asked Leroy to come back and teach me some more. I wasn't ready to stand on my own.
And those few days are where I refuse to remember anymore. I just cut out the details, because I can't sit around weeping everyday, because I know if I remembered, then that is simply all I could do. The year was a blur, because I just don't want to experience it again in memory. It's like that near-drunken state after a death that numbs you to experience. Yet, I went on, in that numb state and changed quite a bit. I decided to drop my thoughts of being a counselor to pursue my first love, music. I transferred schools. I renewed my relationship with God. The years before he died, I had been at a standstill spiritually. I still cringe at the thought that he didn't see any growth in me for so long and that he never will. He invested so much in my life that he deserves that much from me. I couldn't ever honor his memory if I did not follow God.
The year went quickly in the sense that it feels like it literally happened yesterday. Writing this, here in my dorm room, I'm struggling to get rid of the lump in my throat and the tears nearly spilling when I think about him. The ache and the shock and the sorrow are still so strong that I can barely breathe. The year has gone so quickly that it seems like minutes since it happened. But on the other hand, the growth personally and in our church is so immense that the year had to have gone slowly to have facilitated it. That kind of transformation is not quick let alone instantaneous. So, yes, it has been a full year.
It was also both positive and negative. The negative aspect is clear. It's tragic and heartbreaking, something none of us will ever get over in this lifetime. But it has woken a lot of people up, including myself. It was helped us grow closer to one other and have greater empathy and compassion. It has made us rely fully on God, because without Him, none of us would have survived this. Honestly, it's a miracle of God that we did. In the moment, it was not a struggle I thought we could overcome.
So, why do I write this sad, downer of a post? Well, I didn't mention the significance of the day to anyone here. I didn't think they would understand how great a loss it really is. "Oh, your youth leader died? That sucks." What they don't get is that he was like a father to me, to all of us. I just couldn't go another second without acknowledging the day. It feels wrong not to honor his memory. His wife gave me one of his t-shirts that he wore all the time. She told me to wear it, but I just haven't been able to do it. It felt sacreligious, like I was defacing a sacred garment. And for the longest time it smelled like he used to, and I didn't want to get rid of that sensory memory. But today, I wore it. It no longer smelled like him, but strangely enough, I felt very close to him. I thought people might think that was weird. I almost do, but then I think of him as my father, and I feel like it's normal. I honored the day in my own, silent way.
He was the greatest man I have ever met. He did more in 43 short years then most people even dream about doing in 90. He was Godly and righteous. It makes me think of a scripture I read shortly after it happened that comforted me immensely.
"Good people pass away; the godly often die before their time. But no one seems to care or wonder why. No one seems to understand that God is protecting them from the evil to come. For those who follow godly paths will rest in peace when they die." - Isaiah 57: 1-2
It's good to know that he's resting with God. I have peace about that, a peace I never had with my brother's death. The peace of knowing that Leroy is where he belongs, with God and is safe from the suffering of this earth. What a reunion we will have in eternity! I long for that day!
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