I’ve always found that reflecting on a tragedy or any unforeseen life circumstance helps with processing the reasons why and lessons learned as a result. Following is a reflection of a trauma faced and how writing through it helped me heal. *Names have been changed for protection.

Somewhere between not having a free moment from 7 a.m. until 8:30 p.m., I decided I had to go to Wal-Mart after my 7 p.m. small group was finished to pick up the following: coffee, bananas, creamer, SpecialK, Peanut Butter, conditioner for my hair, make up; and I thew in a movie from the $5 bin for good measure…It’s good sometimes that I don’t know the plans God has when I decide a simple task in my head, because then I probably wouldn’t do it.

I did not want to think about him today. I did not want to re-live a painful and raw memory that still lurks around my heart. I did not want to stay awake at night as I’m doing now, thinking about him. But, I am.

I had just completed the task of comparing cereals and deciding on SpecialK when I turned my cart around the corner and almost literally ran into her.  I was just thinking of her yesterday — his mom — wondering how she was doing and how she could possibly deal with a pain as authentic as this one.
We embraced, and my eyes instantly filled with tears. I tried to fight them back, but when I pulled away she looked the same. I laughed. She smiled.  We talked for about 15 minutes, asking how she was, how her son was, how her daughter was, the new baby — all the things we ask about when we just run into someone.  She brought him up, though; not me.

His memory has been flooding mine for weeks now, and I haven’t known why. I’m not sure I do now.  She said, “You know, Meg, he loved that church, he loved that place, he loved you, he loved *Robert. He said one time that he wished *Robert was his Dad.” She relived good memories we shared with her son, but he wasn’t there with us. He wasn’t in Wal-Mart tonight, and he’ll never be there. You see, on a warm, sunny and hurried morning, she walked out of her house and found her son dead. He had taken his own life, which led to a very confusing and tangled web of hurt, blame and frustration. I had become friends with her son about 18 months prior and spent quite a bit of time with him. We were buddies. I still picture his face; and sometimes,I even think he’ll be at the spot where I always saw him.

Her son was a believer. We talked about Jesus, life and the hardships of life frequently. He struggled. He battled. He didn’t live the easiest life there was and in the end felt hopeless and left us in a battle of despair and desperation. He was making a statement.

There’s no real point to what I’m writing right now except that I think I’m learning there are different kinds of pain. This pain I feel from the death of this friend is so real, authentic and flooded with emotion — and is constant. It was more than a year ago that our time here ended with him, but I know I will see him when I get to heaven. There, in that sweet moment, we won’t have any questions to answer, any blame to pass or any frustrations to vent. We simply will embrace and look at Jesus, where there is hope and no despair.

I didn’t want to think about you, tonight. You weren’t on my list. You’re never on my list. I’m so thankful for the friendship we shared and the time we did have together. I’m playing your song on repeat right now, and I bet you’re in heaven singing it. I hope you’re singing loud and that they like your tattoos. I still use one less scoop of sugar in my coffee because of you.