So yesterday was the day I always associate with a friend of mine, Carter Waghorne, dying my junior year of high school. It was sudden and it was terrible and though time has definitely passed I still think of his death more often than once a year (by that I mean that I don't go a whole year without thinking about him and then suddenly this date pops up and I go 'oh yeah that happened' ). It was an event in my life that shaped the way I thought about friendship and tragedy and the sometimes terrible nature of life. I'd rather not make too many comparisons about what happened yesterday since that would seem rather, um, direspectful and stupid. But I did, on the train this early morning, read about some of the details of the Virginia shootings and tear up just thinking about how individuals in that specific community must be feeling and will continue to feel in the coming weeks, months and years. I can't imagine having to grieve while, simultaneously, there are a million cameras trained on your every tear, your every embrace. I have no photographs of Carter, or at least not digital ones and could find none online...the closest I could get was
this photograph of the "memorial seating area" built in his honor at my high school. At the risk of embarassing myself or making anyone uncomfortable I am going to include the short piece I wrote the night I, and everyone else, learned he died. It's a bit saccharine and it's not all that great but it represents an important period in my life where, when faced with nastiness, the only thing I knew to do was write and, more importantly, I believe that, even now, it captures just a little bit of how (you know what, I don't know how to end this sentence so I'm not):
We awaited the news, on benches, in rooms, on beds, in the grass, alone, or huddled in groups, we waited, and we waited, afraid to voice what we didn't want to hear. And as we sat talking about things that weren't on our minds, working around the word death, a man walked hurriedly through our groups, with a purpose all his own, and I saw him, and knew what we didn't speak, and our conversation without meaning continued, as his presence filled my mind. And soon it came to be time to hear what none of us were ready to accept, and as we heard it, our tears came. The tears welled up, coming from so deep inside we didn't even realize we had them, after hours of denial and analyzation of the events, we were faced with the finale and reality we strived to escape. We cried, and we cried. And every new face, with their fresh tears, reminded us once more of the truth, and our tears would spring anew, with a vengeance and force surprising us all.
"I thought I was all cried out."
Memories began to fly through the air with such speed, we were afraid we wouldn't be able to fill the rooms fast enough.
He held my hand.
He hugged me when I was down.
He took showers five minutes before class.
He ran barefoot.
He always gave.
He danced.
His laugh filled a room.
He was the only person I would let sit next to me in French.
He was a friend.
"He could die, but he won't...he can't"
And as reality seeps in we go to our respective places of solace, and wait for the waves of inevitable grief to ebb. There is nothing that can make this easy, many of us have things we wish we could have said, and still more things we wish we hadn't said, and all we can hope for is that he knew this, he felt this, and that we can allow ourselves forgiveness for our discrepancies. Facing up to it is not a five hour process, nor a week process, this is something that will take time, we cannot push it aside.
"Was he in pain?"
As the thoughts go circling in my head, like so many others, I cry. I wish I could say something inspirational, uplifting, and strong, but what can I say to soften an absence like this? I will miss him, and his funny little jokes, and odd spontaneous actions. I will remember his smile, his voice, his presence, his love of music, and his love of people. I haven't taken it in yet, the finality of it all, it was too soon, and none of us were prepared. And all we can do is be there for each other, hug each other, look out for each other, let the emotions come, let the feelings out. Mourn in whatever way is best for you, go to a friend, or go on a walk by yourself, do what's right for you, take a big breath and remember.
All I can say is that Carter will be missed. He was loved, and we can never forget all he gave to us, and all he had left to give.
"I wasn't ready for him to go."
Quirky low budge The Puffy Chair is at times funny, poignant, stupid and sad. If you're in the midst of relationship woes or whatnot watch with caution.
A Good Year sucked. But did make me wish I had a rich uncle that lived in France and left me his kick ass house and vineyard.
Murderball, interesting movie. I'm still not so into the sport though. One of the special features includes a bunch of the dudes from Jackass getting together with some of the dudes from the quad rugby team and doing incredibly stupid things.
Just My Luck was just as bad as this poster suggests.
Documentary about Racine, Wisconsin home of the most ridiculous and fascinating all city proms. Not too deep but fun.
Jesus Camp will scare you if you're on the liberal left and vindicate you if you're on the conservative right.
I am currently going through entourage like Robert Downey Junior (my former fiancee) used to go through blow.
Ryan Gosling has a very nice face and knows how to act with it. Half Nelson is up to its hype for the most part.
Veronica Mars. I've gotten over watching it constantly but I think of it fondly and it led me to write an essay I'm rather proud of.
