Grief is a silly thing.

Just when I think I’m safe, it hits me.
Over and over again.
Like waves relentlessly crashing over the shore. Inevitable. Powerful.

And just like those waves, it fluctuates.
Undulates.

At times the waves of grief seem to crescendo. Peak after peak, bombarding the shore without ceasing. Only growing.
And other times, the shore lies calm for a second, with just the occasional small reminder that life is different now and will be forever.
That’s the silly thing about grief.

Everyone always called you silly.

Silly Jilly

From the first time I met you at a basketball camp when I was 16.
You were small but boy, were you mighty. Going into the scrap with the bigs without hesitation. In the midst of the competition, you still led with kindness above all else (a lesson I’m still working to learn all these years later).
And though through the inevitable distance that grew between things like graduation and college, I’ve enjoyed every unexpected encounter. I would give anything to run into you one more time.

You never let yourself be defined by a singular interest. I admire that. You’re one of 3 people who knew me in real life that has read my poetry. I don’t think I’m ready to share that with others yet, but I’m working on it. Writing seemed like the only fitting way I knew to say goodbye.

You moved through this world with such grace and power, leaving waves of light wherever you landed. Those of us who were lucky enough to have shared your light are left better for it.

And now we are all left with the remnants of that light you so graciously gave to all. It seems to be fading through the lenses of grief. But that light is still there, strong as ever, just shadowed behind the current clouds.

The thing about storms is that they never go away. The waves keep coming without warning. But we become masters at navigating the seas, stumbling blindly towards the light you left behind.

21 years was not enough and nothing can change that. We are all so grateful for the time that we had.

Man, what has it been? 3 years. Dang. 3 whole years.


Let me fill you in on what’s been going on. I’m 22. I graduated college and now I’m a middle school science teacher. Who saw that one coming?!?

Since we’ve last spoken, I’ve traveled to new states, cities, and even countries. I picked up a fondness for birding and have spent an inordinate amount of money on musical theatre tickets.

I read some of my old poems and I’m just like ‘Dang, why you gotta be so moody 19 year old Alex?’ I guess 3 years of distances gives you some wisdom. So to 19 year old Alex, calm down. You’re fine, you’re going to be fine. The world isn’t falling down around you.

You’ll graduate, you’ll get a job you adore, and you’ll finally get to go to NYC not once, not twice, but 4 times and planning a 5th for spring break.

Slow down and enjoy the ride.

I thought I was above this.
I didn't think anyone could make me feel this way.
But ****** you make me giddy
And I can't pull my eyes away.

I just keep thinking it over.
The wave washing over her one final time.
The panic when she didn't come back up.
The heartbreak of a phone call home.
The days long search to find her.
Her curly hair as the pulled her onto the boat.
The simultaneous relief and terror when the journey was finally over.

I remember seeing her curly head of hair bounce around just weeks before.
I remember when she shook my hand introduced herself to me.
I remember when she brushed out her curls to look like a lion for dorm pride.
I remember when she taught us how to swing dance.
I remember where she left her laundry detergent in the dorm basement.
She can't be gone. She just can't.

But she is. They found her. She's gone.
I can't imagine the crushing pain her family must be feeling that seems to become heavier with each passing moment.
She deserved so much longer than she got.

The only form of relief comes in the knowledge that Chase is taking on a new adventure;
One more beautiful and perfect than anyone could ever imagine.
She is resting in the arms of her Savior and waiting for the day we can join her.
"We know Chase is in His hands and safely home."

Let’s talk about the one percent
No, not the one percent with fancy jets or foreign cars
But the one percent that is behind bars.

Yes it true,
One in a hundred are currently in prison
But what are we supposed to do?

Crime rates are dropping
But what do we have to show
While prison populations continue to grow and grow?

You see this isn’t just a war on crime.
Communities are being taken under siege one at a time.

Because sure it might be one percent overall
But according to the cops all the criminals seem to fall
Inside communities filled with minorities.

In some places it’s as high as 10 percent
Of young men being taken from their cities and sent
Away from their families and homes
Unable to provide for the people they call their own

Children are being taken hostage in this so-called war
Many forced to grow up poor
With just one income with which to buy
Necessities such as food and school supplies

And this doesn’t end when the fathers are free
It’s almost as though they must pay another fee
Because who would ever hire a criminal?
Many employers find such a thing unforgivable.

It’s doesn’t end there
Because the current state of our welfare
Does not allow felons to apply for aid
Such as food stamps or Medicaid.

It’s almost as though children are set up to fail
Once one of their parents is put in jail.
Without food or access to proper health care
Their chances to succeed become extremely impaired.

Children of felons are more likely to
Struggle with language and behavioral problems than me and you
But how can you blame them when
They are forced to go to school again and again
Hungry and tired simply because
There isn’t enough family income
To provide for their basic needs
And give them the tools they need to succeed.  

It’s a cycle you see
Of children growing up unable to be
Everything they can truly become
Because their lives are determined by a sum of
Stereotypes and unfair laws
And treating the symptoms instead of the cause.

And just because it is not happening here
Still means it’s something to be feared.
Because for thousands of children this is their reality
Unable to escape the totality

This problem is not temporary
And we can’t  just push it from our memory.
It’s our duty to give them a voice
It’s up to us, it’s all our choice.

I'm done.
This is the end.
You are not in control of me anyone.
I am myself and if that's not good enough for you
I don't care.
Your approval does not define me.
Your ideals do not confine me.
Like they say:
*Lions don't lose sleep on the opinion of sheep.

We create our own worlds
To try and escape the harsh one awaiting us outside our doors.

But don't you realize?
Your existence is a miracle.
Every thought, feeling, and emotion
statistically impossible
but somehow you're here.

Why deny the world access to your miracle?
God knows, we need one.