It has happened. Again. A tragic, pointless, unfathomable youth taken from us with no meaning, no reason. With no warning.
And, so, I am back to my days of Nan. I still have the white board from my teen room wrapped carefully in tissue and plastic. You can still see the trace of her writing. "Nan will love Rhonda forever".
The irony is, that she will. And I will love her. We never had the chance to bicker in our late teens, or fall out of friendship in our twenties. We didn't marry vastly different human specimens. One of us never moved away while the other settled near home. We never disliked that one partied too much or seemed pretentious after college.
Nan will love me forever; and I, her.
Nan is frozen in time. Thick, round glasses masking startling blue eyes. Blonde Farrah curls cascading down her back. Cheerleader sleepovers and all night he-is-so-cute-I-wanna-die conversations. Transistor radio blaring at the Beaver Falls Beach. Thrusting our incredibly thin, tan bodies off the bridge and into the river. Pink bikinis. Ponies. Oh.... sweet, much loved ponies.
I will remember sneaking one of her Dad's cigars down to the railroad tracks and puffing on them until one; or both of us; puked in the bushes beside the tracks. I will remember watching TV late at night while we kept each other company as we babysat.
Nan remains the same. Because she was gone too soon. Beautiful 16 and gone. A tragic accident. So much pink satin. So many crying children. So much to remember and I beg myself not to forget.
I see this happening. Again. Again, the one with the brightest smile and sweetest disposition. The one with talents untapped and relationships unformed. The one with so much to offer and so much promise to bring to this world.
Ripped from his parents and brothers. I see a teen bedroom enshrined. Trophies gathering dust and a wall of certificates for accomplishments now somehow even more incredible. I see pain in his friends eyes and I feel the punch in my gut over and over and I just want.... Nan.
I want to take back that late night phone call when I pulled the curly chord to its extreme point and sat on our stairway and just. started. shaking. Because, I knew. Even though her mom just wanted to know if I had heard there had been an accident. Even though she didn't say what she already knew in her heart, too. I shook. I could not stop. Nan was gone.
Gone. Here at once and gone in an instance. Here forever but with us no more. Always with us but never to touch. Hugs one-sided and conversations that hang in the empty air. Frozen. Time is.
I have that white board. I can trace her writing and remember that spring day we sat on my bed and she left me that message. I remember every detail because it is more golden than any object or than a pot of gold. It is what I have, physically, of someone who is always spiritually beside me.
Again, now, each of you will search your memories and your belongings for your memories of Him taken. You will wrap them in tissue and plastic and place them in a memory box. You will pull them out as you age and, again, encounter this tragedy of life that is senseless death. We each have our Nan.
Forever.
