The phone call

The kind of phone call you get in the middle of the night when you know the news on the other end can't be good. Except this call came at high noon. I'm told that one of my dearest friends of the last 16 years had an accident. A bad accident. A random, freak accident. He's in ICU. He's not going to recover. Even now, one year to the day, those words seem incomprehensible. My body was paralyzed; my mind struggled for anything to say.

David was a life-long pastor who focused most of his career in youth ministry. I think in hearing this news, there was something inside of me; an expectation that somehow this really wasn't going to end badly. Maybe because he was a pastor; devoted his life to serving God and loving others; because everyone thought he was their best friend; because hundreds of young people would testify that he saved their life; because something this terrible couldn't possibly happen to him; because he has 3 daughters; because, because , because. But bad things really do happen to good people. This time to one of the best people on this earth. Four days later, my friend died.

It's been a hard year living with the void that his passing has left in my life. And yet, I feel like that only now I'm really beginning to let myself feel the depth of my sadness. I miss his presence...

every Sunday mornng

most Monday mornings when I would drop by his office to visit

almost daily phone calls

every youth event

talking Baylor sports- especially with the incredible basketball and football seasons this year!

braggin about TJ

any and every time I need to talk about something in my life that I was struggling with

when I wanted to tell someone about something cool that happened

I miss his smile. I miss how happy he always looked to see me. I miss hearing him tell stories. I miss seeing him cry (which he did easily and often).

I've taken some opportunities to acknowledge my sadness and move through the grief. Even still, I've been very conscious of not letting myself feel too sad. Or at least for very long. The pain has felt too deep and too big. This barrier of defense around my heart has been slowly crumbling over the last few weeks. I feel as sad today, and maybe more, than I did 12 months ago. Ultimately, I know this is a good thing. And I think it would be a grave dishonor to his memory to run from this. I feel more willing than I have, up to this point, to be present and conscious in this process. Writing of my dear friend, working through this grief is the main reason I've returned to writing. Funny, it's the main reason I stopped writing several months ago. Though writing about all this here, as opposed to my private journal, feels woefully vunerable. My thoughts are not very coherent; I find it hard to articulate what I want to say; my feellings are raw and all over the map. It's not neat and tidy for public consumption. I need to do this anyway. I'm trusting that God and my heart have led me here and it shall be a sacred place.