Collateral Damage; The Sequel

I was just listening to a Joe Rogan podcast with Jon Stewart. I’ll admit it was my first Joe Rogan podcast I ever listened to – and it was only for Jon Stewart. I watched The Daily Show a lot when I first got to college in 2014 because Professor McBride used his commentary in a conversation on the Ferguson Riots. I found him to be rational, digestible and honest. It’s rare to find all three in one voice.

We are living in one big riot in 2020 – and hearing Jon Stewart’s voice of reason was calming. He spoke about the need for a massive upheaval of our systems and the need for Americans to flip America upside down. We need to stop accepting the bullshit we’ve normalized. We need to stop accepting the bare minimum from the people and institutions we fund. We need real, tangible change – we don’t need symbolism and gaslighting.

In his conversation about the government’s response to the economic toll of COVID-19, he brought up the 2008 recession. He spoke about a conversation he had with the Secretary of Treasury in regards to bailing out the organizations that caused the mortgage crisis instead of making the mortgages themselves whole again. The Treasurer said that it would have been a moral hazard to bail out the mortgages and that the plane was on fire and they simply had to land it. In short, instead of helping the middle class get out of a mess that Wall Street started, they bailed out Wall Street and everyone else became collateral damage.

Hi, my name is collateral damage.

My parents lost the first and only home they ever bought during the 2008 recession. My dad was a union laborer and the construction industry took the first lethal hit as the economy spun downward. He was out of work for nearly two years. They had just refinanced the house and he couldn’t afford the new mortgage payments. He was a hardworking person who tried everything (legal and nonlegal) to save it.  The government decided we were going to be collateral damage and we didn’t have the power to say otherwise. What came next was 10+ years of struggle.

I recognize that many other families and young kids are the newest members of the club. In the midst of a worldwide pandemic, you got $1200 of your own money back in the form of a stimulus and either months of lay-offs, complete shutdowns or minimum wage with a side of potential death. There is currently no long-term eviction moratorium, many are losing healthcare without a job, unemployment is barely enough to get by and the job market is bare – not to mention, the pandemic is still raging on.

We are raising the next generation of collateral damage. So, this one is for you my fellow rejects. I want to talk to the kids who are scared right now watching their parents fill up entire dressers with unpaid bills. You hear them on the phone with financers and banks, their voice trembling with uncertainty. I know you’re nervous because you are finally starting to realize – your parents don’t got this one. They have no fucking clue how to make it through this one. There’s no one there to bail them out. America is too busy injecting billions into the stock market to care about your family, and that’s the truth. Your parents didn’t plan for life to turn out this way and their anxiety is bubbling to the service, exploding right there in front of you. But…they’re adults, they’ll keep you safe, they’ll figure it out. Trust me, they will do everything in their power to do that, until they can’t any longer. You have to understand that your parents have been tossed in the open waters and abandoned. They didn’t venture out there on their own, they were lead to the sea and left there figure out a safe way back to land. They’re just treading water. If there’s no life vest, eventually you’re going to start drowning. My advice? Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. That’s all I got. But, if there’s one thing I can tell you as someone who waded the seas for many years, don’t resent them if their legs get tired. Don’t resent them if the water starts to fill up your lungs. Don’t resent them if you’re drowning – remember, they didn’t put you there. Sure, maybe they didn’t make rent payments and now the landlord is knocking at the door like some Jehovah Witness…but they didn’t ask to get fucked by a larger system. Know that they are going to do everything to keep you afloat but acknowledge that sometimes, the current is just too vicious. 

I know how hard and scary and unstable life seems right now. I know the emotional turmoil that awaits you and your family. I know the pit in your stomach. I know the feeling of hopelessness. You’re in the hole now,  it’s lonely and dark. You don’t know what’s going to happen and there’s no life vest in sight.

What happened to us in 2008 followed our family for the next decade. My parents likely won’t ever own another home again. They had their credit destroyed trying to keep up with our middle-class lifestyle, we lost health insurance, cars got repoed, I had some strange group of rich moms pay off my braces so I could get them removed, we all shared my brothers 1996 Honda Civic, we had several mental breakdowns, my parents split up and got back together, we’ve moved over 10 times since then, our belongings got auctioned off in a storage unit, I lived in my car. I always kept it all a secret because I was so embarrassed. But that’s the bullshit narrative you must reject. Being embarrassed because my family got fucked by the system? Really? This isn’t your fault nor is it your parents. You just got labeled collateral damage and got tossed out to sea. Surviving that is a god damn victory – no matter how dirty and damaged you get in the process. Don’t be ashamed of your struggle, despite what happens to you. Your story of survival is something no one can take from you – no judge, no eviction slip, no lay-off, no shut-off notice can take your strength away. Revel in that. That is your power.

In conclusion, you’ll get through it. And yeah, I know, that sounds like a crock of bullshit from someone outside of your situation, I thought the same thing. But you do get through it. Lean on each other when your legs get tired, make some self-deprecating jokes and endure, endure, endure. When our time comes, you’ll have a badass story of survival and some killer advice while others die with millions in the bank and nothing to show for it.

Oh! And if you land safely on the sea? Go back and save someone else. We’re all we got.

Home (less).

Home is not a place.

In my twenty years on this earth, I’ve laid my head on a lot of different pillows, in strange rooms that were never really mine. I’ve seen a range of landscapes through my window and my neighbors have never amounted to more than familiar strangers.

Sometimes when I tell people I’ve moved ten times thus far, they aren’t sure what to make of such a nomadic lifestyle. To be clear, we aren’t building a new home every few years, we rent your’s, or your neighbor’s, or maybe even your eighth grade english teacher’s. We live in a house, it just isn’t ours. This way of life doesn’t usually evoke any unwanted sense of sympathetic awe but more so reveals itself a concept that seems foreign altogether- “you don’t have a home?”

Well, let me explain. I don’t have a door frame in my house with markings of my annual growth in height nor are my family pictures mounted in my living room. There is no bold lettered proclamation of my family’s last name proudly displayed on the exterior of the house. My room isn’t painted to my liking nor is it decorated to suit my personality. It doesn’t yell, “Devin’s Bedroom”at all those who enter. I don’t reminisce upon last year’s Thanksgiving or Christmas of ’08 when I sit down to eat dinner at a table that isn’t mine. Those memories belong to someone else, whoever they are.

But, my memories still exist.

The dining room table my parents bought from Bernie & Phyl’s, you know, it’s light wood that has two leaves tucked inside to make room for extra guests…that table holds my Christmas dinners. That’s where I remember sitting, balling my eyes out, the night before my first day at South River Elementary School. I was the new girl for the first time in my life and I was god damn terrified.

Those little moments are tucked away, safe and sound, within myself. You see, I don’t need to be in the same living room to remember the Winter Storm Nemo when my parents, their four children, our three cats and one dog slept in the living room together for an entire week without power. I can still tell you about how my brother, trying to start us a fire, filled the entire room with thick pillows of smoke because the fluke was closed in the fireplace. I don’t know if it was the sleep deprivation but we laughed about that the entire night.

Home is often misunderstood. No, I do not live in the same house that these memories originated in, I am a foreigner here. I didn’t create the dings in the walls and I don’t have a story to tell you about what has happened here. But I have a home. I have a home within myself and those who I keep close to me. My friends, the same group of girls I met as a new girl on the first day of third grade, they are my home. My family, the group of people who have endured so much with me, they hold my memories safer than any four walls could possibly do.

Home is not a manmade structure.

The sense of comfort you have, laid up in sweatpants with your feet on the couch you’ve had forever, well I have that too. I find comfort within my conversations and experiences with the small group of individuals who have served as my stability all these years. No matter where I reside, that comfort remains in the loyalty of my relationships. And the feeling of peace that comes over you when  you’re safe inside your home, I feel that same sensation when I’m surrounded by my family. I am protected in their company, just as protected as you are behind a big oak door and an overpriced security system.

In no way do I feel as though you have something that I don’t.

I have a beautiful home, built upon the strongest of foundations, covered by a roof that has weathered every storm Mother Nature can create.

Home is a feeling.

 

 

Drift

“Conquerors come and go but the ocean remains mother only to her children…she adopts anyone who loves her.”

The ocean has always captivated my soul in ways nothing else can. The ocean calms, excites, provokes, challenges, terrifies, enlightens, embraces and destroys. But above all else, the ocean loves. She loves with no sense of guilt or hesitation, only requiring absolute vulnerability from her visitors. All sense of self is to be left on the shore line, strip yourself down to the core with the removal of each piece of clothing. The sand does not judge the worn soles of your shoes nor does the sky question the paths of your journey. Let your mind be as open as her arms, as free as her waves.

She cleanses. She heals.

And she remains, patiently waiting for your return.

Ultraviolence

I think the human soul craves tragedy more than we are willing to admit.  I think there’s a piece of you that desires the sensation of pain, of loss, of humiliation. The taste of your tears are a delicacy. You find yourself licking your lips in satisfaction after the final tear drop, following the worry lines of your face, slides onto your tongue as if it has reached its intended destination. I think you feel a sense of pure exhilaration when a wave catches you off guard, sending your arms thrashing above the water in a battle against force itself. I think war gets you high and you’re madly in love with heartbreak.

Like A Rolling Stone

I’ve always felt a connection to people and things that expose the raw insanity of humanity. Whether it be Hunter S. Thompson, Ernest Hemingway, Ken Kesey, J. D Salinger, Lana Del Rey or even films as corny as Silver Linings Playbook.  I am attached to things that provoke the mind to think about the mind, to ponder the idea of our personal sanity, to humanize the “mentally ill.” I’ve always had an issue with the idea that by categorizing someone as having a disease of the mind, we isolate ourselves from the possibility that maybe we too are diseased inside. We quarantine those in hopes that we don’t catch “crazy,” but what exactly does sanity look like? Sometimes I question how tight my  grip on reality truly is and the lines blur indefinitely.

My world is very small. That is not to say I’m am  sheltered or ignorant to life outside my zip code. It is, however, to say that I haven’t had the opportunities or experiences to broaden my perspective in a way that allows me to understand my purpose. It’s like when you look in the mirror for too long and a wave of existentialism overcomes you. What am I? What makes me human? Is it the connections I have to others on this earth? Is it something more? What will fulfill the needs that my soul craves? What defines, or will define, my life and legacy as Devin Thompson? Overall, what is my intended purpose?

I tend to reject the idea of delving into these matters because it terrifies me. I not so much afraid of personal or social failure as I am of never fully understanding my purpose on this earth.  I don’t know what I need to do, or who I must become, in order to satisfy my longing desire for inner peace. You know, we spend so much of our time striving for “success” in the form of monetary gains or commonly sought-after achievements that the interests of our souls are entirely ignored. As productive members of society, we are expected to follow the path of least resistance, the step-by-step guide to a decent life as it has been carved out for us in the 21st century. You’ll complete mandatory schooling, continue to higher education, pick a career that best suites your financial goals before your personal interests, pursue a married life with children and hope for the best. Can you tell me that isn’t the path your currently following, with eyes sealed shut? I’m sure some of you people will find true happiness with this method, as many do.

But it’s times when I completely reject the notion of normalcy that I feel most content. The rare moments when you feel truly connected with your soul, when your deepest and darkest desires are free to roam wild, when the mind completely surrenders to the heart. That is when I feel most at peace. It takes a great deal of courage to indulge in the crazy that resides in all of us. To take a leap of faith and follow the less traveled path is to risk the possibility of rejection.

To be quite honest I have no idea what I’m doing in college, I’d rather be experiencing whatever I must experience to understand who I am and what I can do in this world. I want to project myself into various lifestyles, to travel to new areas, to see everything and anything that I can. I want to write about these experiences until I can understand them, I want to find myself through experience and not through structure. I wish to understand myself through the lenses of others at a multitude of vantage points, looking inward on myself only after I can grasp the world I inhabit.

I hope someday I can answer the needs of my soul and create a life where I can experience them fully.

Until then,

Devin Fiona.

“I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn’t plan for it to turn out this way I’d be lying, because I was born to be the other woman.Who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing, who wanted everything, with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn’t even talk about it, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me…I am fucking crazy.But I am free.”-Lana Del Rey

Brave Strangers

I have these vivid memories from when I was younger of driving down a road with one of my parents and being fascinated with looking out the window and observing the other drivers. I couldn’t have been older than 10 or 11, but I took great interest in trying to read the faces of these strangers for the few seconds I got to look at them. Their facial expressions, the manner in which they were driving, their habits, the clothes they were wearing and the car they were driving. I would construct little stories that might explain the day they were having. Where are you headed? What are you speeding away from? I never found out if  my predictions held any truth, I had no way of knowing what kind of day they were having, but I pretended I had known every thing about that stranger for the mere seconds they were a part of my life. I don’t think I ever wanted to know if my fake stories were true, I think I just wanted that kind of connection with a stranger. I wanted us to mutually understand each other. I don’t know your name but we were on the same highway at the same time and your car matched up with mine for just a split second. To me, this means we’ve essentially crossed paths in our journeys. I’d just like to know how you’re doing.

When I start to reflect back on my life thus far I realize the amount of things I’ve experienced. I’ve gone through a lot of ups and a hell of a lot of downs. I started to wonder if anyone was ever looking at me through their car window, trying to figure out how I’m doing, or what I’m going through during these times in my life. Maybe someone saw my mother, a lively, youthful soul working her daily shift at the local grocery store, not knowing she was battling endometrial cancer at that very moment. Her heart shaken with fear but her lip remaining stiff, only moving to make way for her boisterous laugh on countless occasions. The human body is remarkable in that way. Even when your spirit is shattered and mayhem is erupting inside of you, your outward appearance remains untouched by it all. Your legs still rise from bed in the morning, one at a time, just as routine as the scheduled sunrise, never failing to appear despite the varying conditions.

Your body does not wear the scars of your heart, for those are only visible in the darkness when the mind is left alone and most vulnerable.

I was walking through campus after work and I began to slip into my old ways. I was passing so many faces, all headed in different directions, but yet all moving one step at a time, as I was. I started to think about who they might be and who they hope to become. How was his morning? Is everything going well in her life? Is he a multimillionaire heir? Does she come from poverty or a broken home? Is he mourning a loss? Celebrating a new beginning? I grew extremely inspired by the thought of how different we might be in our struggles and situations yet how similar we are in the simple fact that we all got up today. We all got up and decided we were going to conquer today, regardless of how easy or hard that decision may have been for some. In that moment, I realized I had fed off that inspiration during some of the worst days of my life. I will never have the chance to intimately know each fleeing soul, but I find comfort in their mere presence. The demons we battle and the obstacles we face are all very different. I don’t know what your speeding off to or what you’re desperately trying to escape, but I do know one thing; We all got up today. I can’t think of something more inspiring than that.

If we channel this energy from one another, we can, as strangers, become integral parts of each other’s lives without ever knowing it. To have purpose on this earth is as simple as finding the drive to rise from bed tomorrow morning and embrace life in it’s rawest of forms.

So I thank all of those strangers whom I’ve subconsciously looked to, your strength to face that given day gave me the inspiration to do the same time and time again. You never know how much you might be adding to this world or how purposeful you are, even in your most mediocre moments.

 “We are never satisfied. Never. But we keep on keeping on. Why? Because it is our essence.” 

Blowin’ In The Wind.

“We have to do as many things as possible while in paradise. Book the day trips, make the reservations, plan the moments out as if they were going to slip away into the dusk if they weren’t strapped down by a schedule. We have to make every moment count while we’re away, we can’t waste a single second of our precious time, for it will end as soon as it began. A single blink of the eye and it is back to reality. No time is to be wasted,  nothing is to be left unseen.”

The ideology would be widely accepted in the planning of a vacation, any trip that somehow deviates from the ever so exhausting routine of daily life. The pressure to experience the world in its utmost entirety has reached its highest form. It’s almost as if our sense of living is thrown into overdrive, stuff a weeks worth of happiness into a fun-filled vacation. Stuff those memories into a musty box of low quality, CVS developed pictures only to be dug out once again to remind us of why we trudge along for the remainder of the year..until we can meet again sweet paradise…

So, how many vacation days do you plan on needing to last you the rest of your life on this earth? It all seems so arbitrary when you think about it.

We wake up every single day in a world that oozes with adventure, rare opportunities, exotic landscapes and hidden treasures but all we seem to notice is the blaring noise of an alarm clock that doesn’t seem to understand we’re sick and tired of it all. We drag our feet along the sidewalk on our blisteringly cold walk to some pointless class or an endless shift at our underpaying job. We’re too caught up in the idea that these walks are mere death sentences to a day full of headaches and hard work, a heartbreaking separation from our comfortable beds.  We don’t stop to look at the sky, to see the clouds dancing just above our heads. The sun peaking through holes of snow covered branches, all bending under the weight of winter…but never breaking. We don’t bother to converse with those beside us, it’s too early, we’re too busy, we’ll find time for living when we get where we’re going.

Wait…where is that again?

I wonder what it would be like if we treated everyday like it was another day in paradise, exploring an exotic land full of promise. What if we let that youthful enthusiasm for living run through our veins on an ordinary Monday morning? As if the next second would only be granted if you spent this very one to its full capacity. I mean, really think about it. The fact that you are breathing right now is a gift in itself, the gentle murmur of your heart at this very moment should stand as a raw reminder of the brief stay we have in this paradise.

The view outside my window is far from that of my ideal vacation spot. My Monday to Friday schedule often makes me long for a life of complete nothingness somewhere remote and tranquil. But if I can’t find beauty in the landscape that reflects off my tired eyes every single day, no amount of old picture albums from “happier days” would aid me in my endless struggle against the daily chores of this life. Instead, I hope to find the paradise in places that don’t seem capable of such treasure. To notice the beauty in the ordinary. 

If you knew your days on paradise island would someday run out, wouldn’t you want to delve into them with eyes that craved new sights, hands that reached for new tools, legs that sought only to discover new ground?

Well, I’m just going to outright tell you, the boss is pretty strict about handing out lots of “vacation days.”  I’d spend them as wisely as you can.

What A Wonderful World.

The feeling of diving into the ocean, the way the water caresses your skin and wraps your body up into its loving arms. The feeling of warmth being absorbed by your head on a sunny day, the heat rushing through each strand of your hair. The anticipation that rips through your body when your awaiting the chorus of a favorite throwback, when nothing else matters but the rigorous beat of your heart. The first bite of an ice cold sundae, the mixing of all different flavors and textures in one scoop finally reaching your lips and melting into your mouth. The sound of a real laugh, one that starts all the way in your toes and takes so long to exit your body that the initial noise is a long gasp of air in preparation for the explosion of happiness. The way your skin looks like right after you have a long hard cry. The puffiness of your radiant face and the pureness of your eyes, glistening with color. The butterflies you get when you kiss someone. The feeling of being one with another human being, the softness of their lips and the feeling of their hand against your cheek, pulling you in closer. The feeling of a hug, a tight and meaningful hug where you feel as if their body is actually warming your soul as every second passes. The feeling of joy that invades your heart when someone looks you dead in the eye and smiles at you. When they smile because of you. Watching your baby cousin, sister, niece, or nephew interact with an animal. Their courage inspires you, their cuteness attacks your negativity with all the power in the world. The feeling of turning over the exam you were positive you bombed, to find a comment regarding your excellent work and a beaming red “A” stamped on top. The feeling of conquering a workout, the sweat running down your face and curving alongside your smile of pure accomplishment. The blissful innocence that overcomes you when you wake up and realize it’s Christmas morning, no matter how old you are. Electric Avenue, anytime, anyplace.

I could go on for hours, but I have Italian homework due tomorrow. Every time you feel like the world is hellbent on tearing you down to the depths of darkness and the walls are closing in around you, think of these things. Think of the simplicity of happiness, think of the beautiful things, the things you don’t appreciate enough. Think of life itself.

Keep pushing, you’re worth it.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends.

I am an emotional introvert. I am uncomfortable with the idea of expressing excessive amounts of emotion, good and bad, for lack of trust in my ability to do so successfully. I fear that my words won’t speak for my heart, it murmurs too softly to be understood.

The most crippling fear of mine is the thought of being a burden. The idea of becoming a weight dragging behind the strength of others is something I cannot risk. I think what once began as a reluctance to ask for material things or favors has transformed into an internal battle of emotional unrest. I grew up wanting to be independent in all aspects of my being in order to ensure I would never unintentionally inflict suffering upon someone else. I will never allow myself to become someone’s charity case. I am my own problem. I am also my own solution.

I once saw this state of mind as being beneficial to the success I’ve made in my life thus far. When you refuse to depend on anyone else, you must find a way to conquer alone…or you fail. Failure isn’t a viable option.

When struggle arose, I fought through it alone just as I did in all other aspects of my life. I was a professional at finding a way to make things happen. Excuses were the enemy, self-preservation being the greatest weapon. It’s not that I had no one to support me on darker days. I have an extremely strong group of people in my corner, but I wasn’t willing to turn to them. This was my fight.

I wanted to instead console the ones around me, almost as if I could subconsciously cure myself in an attempt to cure them. I think most of the time I was speaking to myself when I offered advice. I think they knew that.

I’ve seen the scarring of their wounds and I can plainly recognize the effect things have had on them. I know that your personality reflects your past. I know your pain manifests itself in the constant quiver of your hands. I see your sorrow in the creases next to your smile. The wrinkles on your forehead and the way you violently scrape your fingers along your scalp in times of stress. An indication that it’s all still very raw inside. Somewhere, things were left unhealed. The more I can worry about fixing the broken, the less time I have to look in the mirror and observe my own reflection.

That is, until, I left home. When you’re misplaced from an environment that constantly needs a, “voice of reason” to intervene, when people no longer need you to try and fix them, you must look inward.

It suddenly seemed as if there were mirrors covering every inch of the earth. Upon every moment of the day a spotlight was cast upon my actions, a megaphone amplified my speech. I was all there was for me to focus on.

This is when I realized the flaw in my method.

You see, I’m just as scarred as them. I have the same unhealthy ticks and character deficiencies. I deflect such onto others, I want to see them as the weak aspects of my own mind. If I had just turned around and realized how many people were standing behind me with eyes that craved my emotional vulnerability. If only I had let them speak when I saw their lips forming a word of encouragement. I might have less injuries.

This life is hard. The wind can be very cruel and the mountains will mock you. The vibrant landscapes of the world’s most beautiful places will appear dull on some days. And when these days arrive, you aren’t strong enough to see through them on your own. No one is.

You have to reach out for a hand, even when you aren’t falling.

Human connection is the most essential aspect of our survival on earth. You aren’t expected to do this all alone. You aren’t meant to do this all alone, for being human is not a burden. Being human is an extremely fragile and temporary gift. It is one to be challenged and accomplished, cherished and celebrated.

Share it. All of it.

It’s True, Only the Good Die Young.

Recently, I’ve seen two of the closest people to my heart lose a friend who meant the world to them. I’ve seen them lose a piece of themselves. I’ve felt pretty much surrounded by death, and the worst part being that they were both premature. The lives lost weren’t ready to go, they were too young to die, they were supposed to live forever.

I can’t label myself as religious, but I am far from being sacrilegious. I don’t know where I stand when it comes to an afterlife, or some greater being that predetermines our destiny. I don’t know if heaven exists or if hell is a fiery beckon that houses all the world’s sinners. Quite frankly, I don’t think I’ll ever fully know how I feel about any of it. All I know is there is life and there is death. And caught in between the two are the rest of us, trying to make sense of it all.

As I grow older and I begin to watch the people I love experience the monumental pain of loss, I can only find solace in the hope that there was a greater purpose. That there is beauty in this destruction. Why would a person so pure and radiant be ripped from the arms of those they’ve touched if there wasn’t a greater meaning? I have to make sense of the unknown, because that is all I have to give.

I didn’t know these two souls personally, but I know the immense impact they had on the ones they left behind. I think when a person is so full of love and light, when their smile possesses an actual power to change lives, when their laugh creates a sound that ripples through the bodies of those around them, they can’t help but to be a magnetic force in this world. People are drawn to them in a manner that can’t be explained. It’s as if their physical being is a refuge for the world, giving more to those around them than they could ever know. A soul so pure and positive that one might describe them as the embodiment of youth and life itself. Its almost as if they have a protective shield surrounding them, one of infinite colors, pulling in all those who need to feel the electric air bounce against their skin, those who need to take a minute and dance under the sky. A brief moment of happiness inside that little force field, to capture forever, to keep with them in their back pocket for the rest of the journey. Only the lucky ones will experience a soul so beautiful.

So, I ask, why is it that the good ones, the best ones, go first?

I don’t know why. I can’t understand it. I can’t fathom why a person so divine would only be allotted such a short time on earth. Think of all the lives they could have touched, think of all the good they would have done.

But, maybe it’s because they fulfilled their purpose here. Maybe their job was to grace the earth with their time, their laughs, their tears, their successes, their failures, their love and friendship, for a very short period. They came to unknowingly impact the lives of those around them in ways some may never be able to replicate. They lived a full and beautiful life, just in a shorter time period than most. Their soul was so profoundly perfect that they were only meant be seen for a second, and felt forever. I can relate the experience to that of a rainbow, or a shooting star. Something so sought after because of its rare and beautiful nature, it just isn’t meant to exist forever. You see the magnificent beam of light or reflection of breathtaking colors and you feel so lucky to have been in its presence, you feel special because not everyone gets to have that experience.

Things that powerful don’t need to be tangible forever, they are able to live long after they are gone through the hearts and the lives of those who were lucky enough to know them. They are forever alive. They are forever young.

They are eternal happiness.