micah cox died last year. i didn't know him well. i barely knew him really, but the fact that he walked past me one day and was gone the next is still unsettling.
it's unsettling because i knew the moment he was gone what real fear was like.
i distinctly remember hearing the news. i grew cold and hot and could barely process the words i was hearing. i remember looking at jen sitting on my bed and thanking God that she was there. i remember walking outside in the cold, damp march night. i walked up the hill and sat and looked at the stars while i gasped back tears. i remember thinking of each member of micah's family and trying to think about what they were going through. i remember walking back into my room and hanging some flowers i had picked from my light.
there's still one flower left in my room at home. it's almost dust now, but it's there.
there is a tremendous quote by c.s. lewis. he says "no one ever told me that grief felt so like fear".
it wasn't until my grandfather died (a few short weeks later) that i realized that what was washing over me a year ago.
that crippling fear is also enabling. it enabled me to see the triviality of life and how foolishly i lived and how little i loved. it enabled me to change. and it enabled me to be broken enough for God's love to fill in the cracks.
so i guess i'm just trying to say that, in a sense, no one is really ever fully gone, even when they are dead. their life always matters and molds someone else's.
how incredible is that?