This candle has been here before.
I wrote these words to accompany it:
“It comes to a point where there is just not much more you can do…you say goodbye in all the ways you know how and then you try to fill the hole, to answer all the existential questions, to weave this new thread into the fabric of your life and then…go on.“
It was not the first time I’d experienced the loss of a loved one, but this…was different. He had not lived to a ripe old age or even long enough to reach and enjoy what we all thought to be his potential as an adult person making our world a better place.
Looking back, we can find the lessons, the gifts, and maybe even come to understand the importance of really knowing that there is no such thing as saving it for later. But, time inevitably goes by and it’s easy to get caught up in the daily junk and shove the knowing into a dark corner, to have a shitty day or five in a row, and say “in a minute” until it’s a meaningless phrase.
It’s all precious. Until we forget that it’s all precious.
Today, we lost a beloved young member of our little community. Even though I never had the pleasure of meeting Lexy in person, I knew her story. I rooted for her. I hoped for a miracle.
O wanted to know what cancer is, and why this girl he didn’t know is gone because of it, and it’s as unexplainable, as unfathomable, as Gavin’s death by drowning. All I could do was hold him close, spend a considerable amount of time reading Paddington and giggling with him in the dark. Remembering, in an acutely painful way, just how precious it all is.