I have a lot of heroes...

I’m upset. And also a bit angry. I shouldn’t be, because that’s “not right”, but I can’t help it. I barely have time to mourn my great uncle, when I’m greeted by another death. This one, incredibly hard. That’s not to say that all deaths aren’t difficult to get through, but this one…Well, it happened last week and has taken me this long to write about it. The biggest part about it is I think part of me is still in shock…

Sunday, Oct. 5. 7 p.m.
Dustin & I go to the Laundromat to do a couple loads of laundry. I leave my phone sitting on the kitchen counter. We come back after throwing clothes in the washer, and the phone immediately rings. It’s Jeremy: we have a pleasant chat and hang up. No sooner is the phone closed, it beeps. I have a voicemail. It’s J, calling from LA, leaving a message. “Um, Stacey…I need you to call me back as soon as possible…It’s VERY important…” I can tell he is – and has been – crying. Immediately, the thoughts: “I hope nothing’s wrong with his dad…or Sean…oh God, I hope it’s not Sean…”

Sunday, Oct. 5. 7:30 p.m.
I call Jason back. He is still crying. “What are you doing?...Are you sitting down?...You may want to sit down…are you sitting yet?” “Jason, just tell me…what’s wrong…what’s going on…”
“Sean…with friends…Cliff Cave Park…fell…he’s gone, Stace…”
My knees buckle, and I fall to the parking lot pavement, dryer sheets dropping from my hand. I can’t cry, can’t speak. I can only stutter. I can offer no words, other than “I’m sorry” over and over again. I feel like a failure. I, who can never shut up, who never has a problem articulating exactly what is on my mind, am suddenly at a complete loss for words. I must be strong, hold it together for him. My dear friend, whose family is MY family – always has been, always will be.

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Things, moments, events such as this, would rip apart a weaker family. It would shatter life as they know it, drive an irreversible wedge among them. But not this family. Not other families with whom I’ve been close that have also lost a child – Elizabeth…

These families are my heroes.

It’s not fair. These people are warm hearted, caring people. They have opened their arms and hearts, their homes, and their LIVES to me time and again. They have welcomed me, calling me family. They are people who find joy in each other and in their friends; they cherish each and every moment spent with them. They enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer. They have family nights, attend Church, have Faith, and respect the core family values that the Church teaches.
And yet I find myself asking God, “Why do you think these people should suffer?” I struggle with that question. I’m not at all saying that anyone deserves to suffer; however, what have they done wrong? What have they done to deserve this?

Dustin and I discussed this just the other night, as a matter of fact. For someone who’s NOT religious, he made a good point, and I’m paraphrasing here: “Maybe God knew they were the type of people that COULD handle something like this. I mean, as best as they possibly can, under the circumstances. Like, He knows they are a strong family, and He knows it won’t tear them apart…”
And I think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right. In both instances, families who are already close have been brought closer together by a tragic event. They are not angry at each other, do not take it out on or blame each other. Instead, they find comfort and added strength in one another. They open their arms to family and friends, lean on and lift one another up. They turn toward God, having unwavering faith. They trust in Him, trust that He had a bigger, better plan for their child that none of us on Earth can yet understand or comprehend. THAT is why these people are my heroes. I have a lot of them, when you look at it from this angle.

In that thought process, I try to find my own comfort and strength when dealing with events such as this.

Regardless of any extenuating circumstances in Sean’s life (which I will NOT air here), none of those make this any less of a tragedy.

To me, Sean will be remembered as the 9 or 10 year old kid who impressed and amazed me with his knowledge and sponge-like brain. The kid who read the encyclopedias for fun…and retained facts and figures incredibly. “What volume are now, Sean?” I would ask every time I was at the house. “Well, I’m in the M’s now…but in the A’s, I was reading about aquariums…and you have to have it set at this temperature…etc.” He could rattle off the presidents, their terms, and their vice presidents in order…then turn around and do it all backwards.

He was impressed when I, a girl, showed him how to do a Figure 8 maneuver with a basketball. And he tried his damndest to learn, practicing, practicing, practicing.

I still have the Christmas gift he gave me about 6 years ago. A small glass tealight holder. The tealight sits in the back, behind a green and yellow painted flower. It has taken up permanent residence in the kitchen where I can always see it, lit most nights now, the colors flickering and dancing on the counter.

If there is any silver lining to be found in the wake of Sean’s death, it’s this:
#1 – as an 18 year old kid, he had the presence of mind to sign up to be an organ donor. Something like 70 people are benefiting, getting another chance at life, because of Sean’s incredible character.
#2 – this has brought together people with whom J hadn’t spoken in years. There are talks being had, tears are being shed, and wounds are being stitched.

I love that entire family as if they were my own. And I thank God that I was lucky enough to meet them, lucky enough to still have them in my life, and hopeful enough that they will continue to be there. Thank you, to the family, for continually opening your arms, home, and lives to me. Thank you, to J, for still being the wonderful, dear friend that you have always been and remain.

Rest in Peace, Sean. You will be missed.