En Memoriam

Scattered thoughts on death. Feel free to skip.
Andrew Sasse's story.

Someone died today.
                                                      People die everyday.
But he was a senior at my school. I knew him.
                                                                            Did you really?
People I know were really close to him.
                                                                  That's incredibly general.
People are crying. A lot. Everyone is crying or doing something. Why can't I cry?
                               You didn't really know him. Loss is simply the failure to reappear. You weren't used to seeing him, so not seeing him, knowing he won't ever return, is strange. But not.
Everyone is talking of tragedy, the senior class is pulling together. But I don't feel like I'm part of it. 
                            You didn't really know him.Your grief is more detached. 
It doesn't feel like I'm grieving at all. I almost feel guilty.
                                You are sad, thinking of all of the things he'll never do. But because you didn't know what he wanted to do, his secret goals and aspirations, the sadness isn't overpowering. Your belief in God and the afterlife absorbs any sadness at his passing. Don't feel bad.
Everyone is grieving. I'm still living. Thinking about homework, projects, and books. When I laugh, I feel guilty.
                      Another person's death is not an excuse to stop living. It will pass. It will be forgotten.
It will be forgotten. And that's the saddest part.
                                           That's the saddest part.

 Why can't I cry?

I've done it a million other times.

Moments of frustration and loneliness.

A thousand careless drops, shed for forgotten reasons.

Why can't I cry today?

I've sobbed and lamented over fictional characters,

alive only in impersonal paper, composed of inky dots by some distant author's hand.

The people of a dozen TV shows are more real to me,

their lives, lived in vivid color across the screen, are real to me.

I cried when Amy and Rory died, but not when Andrew did. 

And, for me, both deaths happened on Memorial Day. 

My feeling today should be one of grief, but instead, here I am
wondering. 

Someone died today 

Why can't I cry? 

We did nothing today, in at least 3 classes. We bonded together, wrote letters of comfort to the family, added our names to cards of support, and tied bows on a memorial wreath. 

But the other three were normal.

Dying on Memorial Day is a cruel, cruel trick of irony.

My friend was listening to Ke$ha's song "Die Young" when she heard the news.

Eliza sorted though "bengal gear" to wear in his memory today. One of the shirts said, "Class of 15, we've never felt so alive!" and the other one said, "Bengal Pride of Die!" She wore a different shirt.

Graduation is SO CLOSE. His parents were out of town.

I can add this to my list of major tragedies.

Sandy Hook

Aurora, Colorado

Boston Marathon

Andrew Sasse, dies in a hiking accident.

This one hit a little closer to home. It wasn't anyone's fault, no malicious wrongdoing. Still a tragedy.

News 8 interviewed me about it. I was waiting for my ride home on the nearly empty campus. I didn't want to. It wasn't that I was afraid I would cry. It's that I knew I wouldn't. I didn't want to help them make headlines out of our school-wide heartache. But I knew I could say something good. Something that might help. All I have are my words. I pour them out and my emotions are amplified. I want to give comfort and reassurance. I'd rather be a faceless, nameless comforter. But I hope it helps.

Every little bit helps, to fill the void.

Remember the boy.

Not at all what I hoped. I said so much more, and I thought it meant so much more.
 But that's the media for you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9hXCBLLzIo