We're all held together by something. Most of us by friends, family. We're all scarred. Every person in this world has lived through something bad. Even if it wasn't something personal and awful, you've lived through something. Like 9/11. Or April 27th, 2010. Moments that hit you and make you think. Most of us live through moments were we feel shattered, but we pick up the pieces and move on. But then some of us, well some of us stand in a hospital waiting room and hear words like, "Has he always had asthma? I'm sorry, this time he just couldn't handle the attack." Some of us hear those words, and then a huge piece is chunked away. And it's just gone. We do a lot of things to try to replace it. Some of us succeed. But then some of us suffer the cruel hands of fate. Some of us have to stand in another hospital waiting room, praying for strength to deal with the news we know is coming. We know the news is not what we want to hear, but we are able to be logical and rational enough to expect it. We know to ask God to hold us up through it, instead of asking for an outcome that was long ago deemed impossible. However, when those words come, delivered with compassion, as gently as possible, we feel our whole body fall apart. The world stops moving. It may even fall out of orbit, we wouldn't notice. It could fly into the face of the sun, it wouldn't matter. God did not hear our prayers. He did not give us the strength to deal with us, because we can't. We are only capable of going through the motions. Our miracle did not come, a person we loved is now dead and buried. But then thins start to change. We start realizing that the people that are still standing beside what used to be us are slowly starting to form a glue. We don't know why, but we know it's happening. We know everyone we meet sees the holes. We know they are ugly, and no one new will ever love us again. But we meet someone new. She's different. We are sure she sees the holes in us, because they are very large and impossible to miss. But she likes us anyways, and she is our friend. One of our holes begins to shrink. She has become a piece of us, held in place by the glue our families have left behind. Then someone else comes along. And he feels the biggest hole yet. We realize now that we are almost whole again, that we're not as ugly as we were. We still have some small holes, but who doesn't? We have rough patches. We have patches of new, tender flesh that can easily be ripped open. We have scars. But we're whole now. We're a person.
And there's no "I" in this because there would be no "I" or "me" without you. My beautiful, wonderful, incredible parents, who rushed to be my side when I needed them most. The extraordinary Lindsey, who was always there to pick me up off of the floor, no matter what had put me there. The incredibly amazing Stephanie, who saw me for what I am now, not what I was then, a person, not a broken, sad mess. The most beautiful man on the planet, the one God made for me to fill the biggest empty spot. My missing puzzle piece. The place in my heart that was left open just for him, where only Ryan will fit. My family, the glue, made it possible for my friends, the pieces, to stick and make me whole again. I realized some time ago that my prayer had been answered. It took some time, granted. But it did come true. This December 27th will mark 6 years since that fateful day in Mellow Mushroom. If I could go back and change it in some way, would I? I admit I'm tempted. If I thought it would save their lives, maybe. I'll never have that chance, so it doesn't matter if I'd take it. Even if I had to live it through again, start to finish, I know now it will be okay. That everything will work out in the end. How's that old saying go? "It'll all be okay in the end. If it isn't okay, it isn't the end."
Merry Christmas, guys. I'll never be able to properly thank you. Never. But I promise to spend every day of my life trying.
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