Chapter 1

November 22, 2020

I never even wanted to go.  A visitation?  What was that?  Three hours sitting around watching family friends console each other?  Respectfully, not exactly my cup of tea.  But, her father personally wrote me an invitation.  Going would be the right thing to do.  

I stood in front of my body mirror for what felt like an eternity trying on outfits to wear later that night.  Mom advised that “black was not required,” “nothing informal,” and to essentially “dress like you’re going to church.”  After four failed outfits, my sister chimed in with a simple, “just wear what you want.”  Staring at my, now, maroon long sleeve with its round neckline paired with my black jeans, I shrugged and settled on the final look.  

Faint memories of attending these kinds of events before sprouted to the forefront of my mind as the hour drew closer to leave.  But I was a toddler then and was with my family.  Most of the time at funerals and wakes, I barely even knew the individual who passed.  My past recollections, unfortunately, did not seem reliable enough to base what the experience I would soon have will be.  Because this time was different.  I was seventeen.  I was going by myself.  And I personally knew the girl who died.
I began practicing what I was going to say to the family, warming up with the usual “I’m so sorry for your loss,” and gradually working up to practicing soft grips for the hugs and handshakes.  This would be an extremely awkward time to accidentally “dap up” someone.  Maybe I shouldn’t have worn mascara.  I finished my final practice greeting and “take care of yourselves,” then gathered my things and walked out the door.  

Overall, the trip took forty-five minutes and four wrong turns.  As I drove, I wondered who would be there.  Who did I expect to attend?  Who did I remember her talking about?  Our coaches?  Her friends from the Marines, no doubt.  And who else?  Hmm, if only I had taken the time to get to know her better.  But I expected a small crowd.  People who kept to themselves.  Sophisticated young adults with warm smiles.  People like her.

I pulled into the parking lot with wide eyes.  It was filled completely.  People flowed in and out of the church as if it were a revolving door.  Pulling into one of the few remaining parking spaces, I was quickly overcome with social anxiety.  My heart beat loud in my ears and I felt the beating throb in my temples.  Not right now, I can’t have a panic attack right now!  My breathing got louder and I found myself talking aloud quickly, narrating my thoughts and movements.  I blinked harder and faster, trying to process everything about to take place.  Cool it.  Right now, Carson.  Slowly, the muttering turned to silence and my shaky hands went still.  Go time.  I finally took a deep breath and stepped out of my car.  

One foot at a time.  This is not the place to faint.  Weaving my way between the dusty cars, I made my way toward the entrance where four veterans stood saluting.  One step up the curb.  One… two… three… four… five… six to the doors.  I stood at the bottom of a staircase, two… four… six… eight… ten to the landing.  At the top, I was met by eager women who appeared cheerful as they welcomed me, confirming who I was there for and pointing me where to go for the service.  But behind their soft wrinkled smiles and bright eyes, I felt they too were saddened by the service, though they appeared to be simple church volunteers.  In the midst of their robotic welcomes, a small, smooth memorial card was slipped into my fingers.  I glanced at it and there she was.  I hadn’t seen a picture of her in months.  She looked so happy.  Her wide smile in a field of flowers.  A brown horse at her side, nestling her neck.  She looked so pretty.  So young.  Too young.

I continued walking down the hall until I got to the sanctuary.  Peering in, I saw at least a hundred people.  Good God, I should’ve stayed home.  I scanned the crowd, desperately looking for a familiar face but found none.  My breathing deepened and my mind started spinning at a million miles an hour.  I prepared myself to quickly give my consolations, then leave.  

But as soon as I walked in, my mind was silenced and my heart burst into a thousand pieces.  

Chapter 2

November 4, 2020 (eighteen days prior)

“On Nov. 1, 2020 my little sister was found dead on her Marine base, she was 19.  I miss her so much.  Please pray for my family as we process through this, especially my parents.”

- Joe M

What?  No.  That couldn’t be.  I reread her brother’s post over and over, not believing what I was reading.  I then proceeded to stalk her other siblings’ accounts, trying to make sense of this sudden news.  I know we weren’t close, but we were still friends.  I didn’t know what to think besides woah. 

I always heard about young people dying, but could never fully imagine it being someone I knew.  Now, I didn’t have to imagine.  

I felt empty, but at the same time, I didn’t.  I was confused, and I was sad… I think.  Shock?  The news left my mind clear, yet cloudy.  Quiet but loud.  For countless minutes, I wracked my brain trying to remember the documentaries and articles on grief I was coerced into reading for school assignments.  Is this a stage of grief I’m feeling?  Is it supposed to be this confusing?  In all of the emotions swirling through my brain, on the outside I was emotionless.  I felt as if nothing could penetrate my steel barrier of emotions surrounding me.  

These thoughts and contrasting feelings came and went, but I never cried.  I didn’t know if it was due to shock, or- to be frank- if her death simply did not move me that much.  

And I never knew what to expect as I stood in the church’s sanctuary weeks later.  But I know nothing could’ve prepared me for it. 

Chapter 3

November 22, 2020

As I stood in the room, I was suddenly bombarded with emotions.  Sadness, anger, guilt, pity, everything.  They all flooded into my body, taking the place of my social nerves.  Another staggered step and I took in everything in the room.  The rows of chairs, the soft piano music playing, the slideshow of her growing up, the overwhelming amount of people, the flowers, the family, the open casket.  The open casket.  Keep walking.  

I slowly followed the families in front of me as they lined up to offer the family their condolences.   I stood silently as friends leaned on friends and siblings on each other.  Man, I wish I had someone with me.  The tears began bubbling up.

The emotions only strengthened as I neared the front of the room, though.  And right before I got to the front it snapped.  The memories she and I shared flooded back.  Us racing on the hard track in the springtime.  Her motivational speeches to me when I was nervous before a race.  Sharing how excited she was to see her marine friends come watch her pole vault at a meet.  And me, forgetting to find her to give her a ride home after practice that one day.  Carson, you’re such a bad friend for that.  

And in that snapping moment, I started crying.  Crying?  Silent tears that seemed to never want to end.  Get yourself together, you’re up next.  Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have worn mascara.  I take the final steps forward, finding myself at the very front of the room, right before the stage of the sanctuary.  To the right, the brown open casket, with flowers of all different beautiful colors surrounding it.  Open…  Don’t look.  Don’t look.  

I stare straight forward.  

Her family lines the stage, hugging one another and being comforted by others in front of me.  Her sister glances my way.  Here we go.  I approach and shake hands with her, offering my condolences, but finding my voice catching as her emotions flowed from her small body into mine.  Her eyes were bright under her short dark hair, yet underneath I saw pure heartbreak and sadness.

I forced myself to move on from her, afraid I’d start balling at her feet.  I went down the line of family members, one after another, meeting many for the first time, my own sad emotions growing ever more stronger with each member.  I met the older brother, whose Instagram I viewed just weeks prior, and the smiling brother who shared with me stories of when the two did track together.  That smiling brother is the only reason this family is still sane right now.  His brave smile bored into my soul, my heart aching for him.  And at the end of the line, was my friend’s father.  

In my lifetime, I can count on two hands how many times I’ve seen an adult cry.  Adults crying always took a sort of energy out of me.  As a child, we thought of adults and parents as these big, invincible people.  But when they cry, it makes me remember that they’re just older versions of myself.  It made me feel as if my childhood was a lie.  That everyone was vulnerable to something.  But watching a father cry over his lost daughter.  That took an energy out of me that I will never be able to explain.  

As I approached her father, it was as if he immediately recognized me.  He pulled me into a deep hug.   His saddened soul drooped in my embrace and his pain could be felt in his words as he thanked me for coming.  My lips began to move to recite my practiced speech, but nothing came out.  I’m so sorry.  Tears just welled up in my eyes and only a small squeak escaped my mouth.  He hugged me tight again, understanding.  She didn’t deserve this.

Once he let go of me, I stumbled my way back to my car, the tears making it almost impossible to see my feet.  But when I got to the car door, I collapsed in a fit of sobs.  I clung to the side of my car as a crying fatigue set over all of my muscles, drooping in the dark.  When my bones remembered how to function, I got in my car in a fit of sniffles.  However, as the door shut behind me, the emotions reached an ultimate climax and began to pour out of my soul.  I wept for minutes on end.  Loud wails.  Shuddering breaths.  Tears, snot, crackly inhales, the ugly works.  Bout after bout.  I never knew I possessed such a cry within me.  

After I felt my emotions retreat far enough back within me to think properly, I debated going back inside to sit through the service or going home.  In no way did I think I was mentally stable to drive; thus, I opted to stay.  So back I went, up the curb, past the veterans, through the doorway, up the steps, and around the women.  And there I was, in the sanctuary once again.

Chapter 4

November 22, 2020

I sat down in the middle of the rows, praying someone would not sit near me in fear I’d start babbling my sad stories to them.  And as I waited for the service to start, I contemplated on approaching her casket.  To see her one last time before she was taken away forever.  I chose to pass on the opportunity, and though I initially kicked myself for doing so, in the end I found solace in the fact that the last time I saw her in person, she was alive, smiling and proud.

The service was beautiful, preached by her favorite pastor, her father.  At times, his words would dig deep into my heart and I felt as if he was talking solely to me.  His loveable messages left me feeling proud to have known her.  Her father spoke about the momentous achievements of her life and of God’s love and purpose for us on Earth, as well as stories of how she served in the Lord’s name, striving to be better for Him.  The words did nothing but inspire me.  

At last, the ceremony gradually came to a conclusion.  And in unison, the congregation stood together and faced the family, who faced us as they held each other.  Her father was presented with a framed American flag in honor of her service, which he held to his heart.  His shoulders moved up and down, the sobs being consumed in the room of sorrow.  More melancholy piano music began to play as veterans came down the aisle to take her away.  Her coffin was closed and another flag was brought out to drape over her.  You are an American hero.  They lifted the polished oak casket onto their shoulders and began their slow ascent up the sanctuary’s auditorium-like slanted floors.  The assembly turned with each step of theirs.  Stop crying.  

As her body left us, I looked around at the mass of people surrounding me.  Each person makes millions of memories every single day and each moment should be cherished, for the fear of death lurks in the shadows waiting to rip all of your memories away.  There were elderly people, children, young adults, Marines, veterans, teachers, parents, and the list went on.  Everyone there had their own story, housing their own trillions of recollections shared with others.  It truly opened my eyes to the impact one individual can have on others in their community and it made me realize how connected everyone’s lives are with each other, no matter their age, race, gender, etc.  I saw families next to families and friends next to friends.  And I saw my solo self in my lonely circle.  And, though, I was alone in the room full of people.  I felt the connectedness between all of us.  From that moment on, I knew I would never again find myself alone anywhere.