Nick.

This too shall pass.

I suppose it will. It usually does.

But in the meantime, I figured I could give the passing a little nudge. 

One of my most abided by commandments as a young adult is,"thou shalt shower, and If it's not fixed, write." 

So I sat in the shower, silence my aid and the warm water my remedy. As the warm water hit my eye lids and cascaded down my cheeks, my shoulders and flowed down my revealed back, finally spilling into a puddle underneath my body, I realized that I would not fix this without some more nudging. So here I am, hoping to nudge enough to reach a little peace.

I don't exactly know how this is going to go. I usually go into my writes with a little 

more vision. Maybe not even that, but usually I have a mental funnel that I pour ideas down in order to reach a more channeled point, or a more filtered final understanding. I'm here to go, I guess. And go. And go. And go. Until I feel like

I've worn out my brain and it's never ending running. I'm not sure how this is going to conclude, but peace is really all I'm hoping to see at the end.

What I know is as I sit here, I am sad. Not in general, or more often than not, but I get pangs. I get tired and I get difficult and that is because when I get sad, I get quiet. I combat that with loudness inside. I know I'm not unique from others in this, and there is something reassuring but vaguely upsetting in that fact.

I knew a guy. He was just a guy. He was a guy I passed often as a child, easily forgot about as an adult. I knew he had faced difficulties as many had, but the prevalence of his personal trials did not come to my attention until after he died.

He died. 

I know I have written of death before, but in my growing, I chose to write again.

He had tired eyes. 

He had tired eyes long before he passed. I remember thinking he was reminiscent of an old dog- do you know what I mean? 

Perhaps you don't.

Old dogs have this ware on their bodies, their expressions. At least from my experience with old dogs, instead of letting their age debilitate, as many old

humans might, it more acts as a filter on top of their inherent need to be a dog. It's like their happy, loving, and blissful personalities are not halted, but just stretched out a bit by years and age and many days of greeting you with wide eyeballs, jumps, and exhilarated barks. 

He had these qualities. I remember looking at him and thinking, in my childlike state, he looks tired but not in the way that he inflicts. Like he was born tired, and that was a perma filter, but not a hinderance.

He died. Earlier this week. 

Nick was his name. 

Nick. 

So appropriate for a guy that so artfully blended into the background, harbored no enemies, and existed in his filters.

I think I hugged him lots.

It's been a long time.

He lived in the room at the top of my church. I knew living in that room indicated whoever resided took care of the church. You know, locking up, reporting issues, general stuff. I remember being grateful for him living there because the church was my place. I spent many days during the summer playing, creating, imagining there. More days during the year after school and on weekends hanging around with my mom, making friends with the janitors, members of the congregation and other office workers. Making friends, learning about God and all the questions surrounding him/her and making memories I look back on until this day fill my brain as I think about it.

He was young. Probably in his 20's I thought. Mid twenties. He was always so nice. So nice. Nice was his anthem. I knew nothing of him other than he took care of the place I loved, never failed to smile back or hug back the silly little chick who smiled at him and hugged him even when he hardly knew her.

He looked like a guy who could always use a hug or smile. Today, I'm happy I saw that.

He walked with a cane.

I thought that strange as well. I had only  known those significantly older to utilize the uses of these canes. An accident,

I thought. He'd probably been in an accident. He never let it intude on his duties patrolling my beloved church, and certainly never his other loves. 

It was Monday.

At this point, I hadn't thought of Nick since my younger days as he had left to go onto other endeavors.

Monday I sat at my dinner table and looked to my mom and asked about her day. She held a passiveness about her as she responded with an automated fine, and a tired silence. 

"A guy died this weekend. Nick. He used to take care of the church. Sara has been texting me about it all day." 

Huh, I thought. I offered my condolences to my mom and then asked for details. I assumed he was old, as, many caretakes of the church usually had been. 

"Nick, you may remember him. Nick Lewis. He walked with a cane? Was blonde?" 

Nick.

My food was no longer appetizing.

The room was no longer just quiet.

He was no longer just a guy.

"Nick?"

"Yeah. Nick."

I felt the lump in my throat and the heavy on my chest.

My dad was on my left. 

My mom began to cry.

My dad continued to eat.

My mom dove into his past. He was born into a family of mentally ill. Was diagnosed with cancer at ten. Cured. Became homeless. New diagnosis of cancer. Didn't have money for treatment. Leg got bad because of said inability to pay, started walking with cane. Moved to church where he had place to stay. Got involved in amazing church activities and groups. Tried to get book of photography published unsuccessfully. Meets girlfriend, get engaged. Had aspirations to do graphic design, new cancer diagnosis. Dies at 34.

My heart aches and my eyes burn now just like they did as my mom recited this back to me. 

My dad gets up and leaves.

No acknowledgement or love is offered upon moment of breakdown.

"Susie! We need to go!"

She wipes her eyes, quickly and snaps together.

"Okay. Let me get my shoes on." 

We all left, every ounce of sympathy drained from anyone.

I was angry. 

I drank and spent times with those I loved. Drank more than I should've. sucessfully forgot about how upset I was that mercy could not be spared to someone who deserved it, nor sympathy spared to someone who needed it.

Fucking sweet.

My heart ached for all parties that had suffered.

How could this happen like this? 

I had hardly known Nick. We had only briefly entangled our seperate existences, and yet my heart fucking ached for him.

I'm angry that someone that had been dealt so much more than any one person should ever have to be faced it so bravely and never seemed to catch a break. I cursed fate, or karma and even God: I was confused as to why someone that never once complained, or let bitterness overtake, or used every bit of adversity he faced as an excuse to hate life could not catch a god damn moment of peace. My heart hurt. Everything hurt.

The following days I felt numb, unable to get his sweet, tired face out of my mind.  I took advantage of every distraction. 

His funeral was tuesday. 

My mother attended. She cried again. I cried too.

I had never understood, or showed any patience, for those who felt obligated to make large, boisterous statements about someone who had passed when they had not known them or hardly known them.

Today, I gain understanding. I suppose you can never really judge a person grieving by the outer appearance of their reasoning. Let people be sad. Losing a human is hard, no matter the acquaintance.

I have been bothered my nicks passing for a while now, and feel that I do not owe any explaination as to why. I just know he was a good person who I felt drawn to as a child and had played a significant role in my growing up without really having to be there. 

So, here I am. I am frustrated by so many things outside my power seperate of this one event, and find myself opting to spiral into isolation. The more I have to talk about it, the more real and confusing and frustrating it becomes. But in the midst of all this other stuff that is making my want to pull my hair out, I think of Nick. 

Cancer three times? 

Homeless?

Disappointment in an endeavor?

Leaving a loved one in the rear view mirrors.

From the beginning, he was up against life. 

I have not been able to shake this, and I don't think I will.

The thought "he never even had a chance to fight back" has been driving me nuts. 

35 years old. 

Jesus.

How on earth does that happen.

Monday night.

I'm sitting across from a fellow human, and we are talking. I make sure Nick stays away from the forefront of conversation and we discuss life; our viewpoints, aspirations, beliefs.

I have always been an advocate of living a full life. BY this I mean going to college, falling in love, getting a good job, doing as much as you can, traveling, etc. etc. etc..... This is the indicator that you have had a full, and satisfying life. No room for regret and that might be the root of my pain for Nick, a man who never had time, money, or means to do a lot of the things I picture as whole. My heart ached for the things he maybe wanted to do but couldn't. 

I shared this with this person, and they reaponded after a bit of silence, and then a little more chatting.

He said, "as long as I have someone to love, someone to love me back, and the ability to do something I love, that's all I  need." 

I could feel it passing.

In that moment, I realized that Nick had all those things. Perhaps, in a life where you have so little, you measure in things you do have rather than things you don't. A full life can not be measured in things you didn't have a chance to do, but all the things you made happen with what you had. I found refuge in the fact that

Nick had a fiancé. 

A gal he loved entirely, and a gal who loved him entirely back. To the very end.

He had his art, his photography. 

He had a life. A life that had been shown to me as a life that was enough. 

This entire week, I have been wrestling with this fact.  Trying to accept this wonderful human, who had such a kind grace about him, lived to be a mere 35, faced so much adversity, and seemed to receive the "short end of the stick" every time he drew, had lived a life that was enough. It has made me look at my own life and question the current state of my living and if it is "enough" and come to terms with the fact that bad stuff sometimes happens, and it just...

Happens. We can't do a whole lot about it except love love love. BIGTIME. As much as we can, as Nick had done. Until the very end.

This person who had been lost for a while never felt so lost as his soul feels to me now. A truly inspiring person he was. 

Dealing with my stubborn, but fair personality has been difficult in this time. I wanted this guy to have everything as he had proven he deserved. But after I look at it now, I do find peace in the fact that he strolled out of this life with a bang. He served as a role model and successfully achieved a full life with so little.

My heart aches still, and dealing with a loss this strangely personal might take a bit, but my nudging efforts have been successful and today, I find a peace I have been longing for. 

Perhaps a kind of peace that Nick had found at the end of his time, and a peace I hope to not pass.

.K SG C.