Thoughts while attending the funeral of a thirteen year old boy
He died from a tiny germ, caught at a hospital he was in for a simple, safe procedure.
Please, no more "God needed a Angel" songs. No more "I'm getting my
wings" language, please. I can't see how that helps.
He attended preschool at our church, with Micah. Micah has been in his class since then, in fact he's been at our house a couple of times for birthday parties.
When I die I want the people who know me to speak the truth, even if its tough. Its good to be in a community when you die, so there are people who know your name and your story, and can speak about you with insight and authority.
Life is completely unfair. If you want fair go study math.
Thirteen is a hard time of life at the best of times, let alone to having to face the death of a classmate.
Serious note to self: If I don't know the person who's funeral I'm officiating at, I better not guess at his personality and miss the real person.
The boy had the loves and passions and desires of a thirteen year old. The age between being a child and a man. Changing, unwilling to forget the things of childhood, yet finding them insufficient for becoming a man.
Life can be damn hard sometimes.
She says it better than I.