You Said Forever

You said forever.

You promised. You always told we'd be together for the rest of our lives, that we'd grow old together. But you lied. But how was I supposed to know? You were always so truthful, so faithful. Your eyes never strayed, your words were honest. Up until the day you died, you never lied. But that was the biggest lie of all.

Everyone said forever was just…forever, but I suppose that was a lie, too. For you and I, forever was four years, seven months, and twenty-two days. I guess I missed the definition change. I know I probably sound a little bitter, but that's my way of coping. I miss you, far more than you could ever imagine.

Today is your funeral. In essence, this is the end of forever. I have to say goodbye today for the very last time, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that. I'm hurting, and for as long as I can remember, you've always been the only person who can put me back together.

Perhaps a trip down memory lane is fitting. Do you remember the day we met? I remember. We were fourteen. As we both learned in turn, teenagers are cruel creatures. I seemed to always be the target of ridicule, because of my shy nature and my reputation as a 'good girl.' But you never teased me. You were never anything but courteous.

The day we met, I was walking alone to the parking lot, where my father was waiting to pick me up; I carried several heavy books in my hands. Along the way, I met with a group of boys who repeatedly had me in their sights for harrassment. They knocked the books from my arms and called me names, none of which I hadn't heard before. I was close to tears, and I was sure the tears would spill over. 

But then you showed up. My tall, sky-eyed Superman.

You saved me from my tormentors and whisked me away to live in a fairytale world. You would hold me close at night and  whisper promises in my ear. I suppose to you, promises are all the same. But they're not. The differences between some are as stark as night and day.

There are small promises. Like promising to pick up the dry-cleaning or promising to stop off at the store for a gallon of milk.

And then there are promises that can't be kept.

Like promise you'll be safe. Promise you'll come home again. Promise you'll always be there for me. And promise you'll never, ever leave me.  

You promised me all of these things without even realizing it. With each stolen kiss, each softly spoken sweet-nothing, you unknowingly promised me you'd be there when I woke up in the morning; that you'd always be there for me; that you'd never leave me. You promised me forever. But when you walked out the door that night, you broke all of those promises.

All of our friends are here to say goodbye to you. Like typical males, they're trying hard not to cry, but I know they want to. I can see the hurt swimming in their eyes; feel the pain blistering their souls. You're their brother, and they've lost you. I'm crying now as they lower you into the ground. I hold on tightly to Matt's hand, trying not to lose myself. I made them promise me that they wouldn't let me jump into that hole with you; I didn't think it would come to that, but it did.  

The pastor walked up to the small wooden podium, holding a bible in his hand, and began to speak. "Blessed are those who mourn," he read. "For they will be comforted." Here he paused and raked his sympathetic gaze over those of us in the front row; our party was the one most in need of comfort, and the one who was least likely to receive it. "Friends, as we gather here to remember a life ended far too soon, we are beneath the protective shelter of God's healing love. We are free to pour out our grief, release our anger, face our emptiness, and know that God cares."

If God cared, he wouldn't have taken you away. He wouldn't have made you break your promises. Because, aren't promises everything? I could only hope that He was there; that He cared. I could only hope that He heard every angry word I shouted towards the heavens, that He listened to every tear I shed over the life He stole.

"The death of a loved one can shake us to our very foundations," the pastor continued. "At times such as this we turn to our friends and family for support, for a shoulder to cry on and for someone to walk that road of pain and anguish with us. We cannot have James back, but we can rest easy knowing that he's found the peace in death he was denied here on earth."

Are you really at peace? I guess that's hard to say. You always told me that when you died, you wanted to take me with you. At first I found that a bit terrifying, but now I wanted nothing more than to float among the clouds with you. I wanted our forever. Because in heaven, forever really was forever.

As the pastor finished his reading, drops of ice cold rain began to fall from the angry sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance; I shivered. Where was your comforting embrace when I needed it? Matt gave my shaking hand a squeeze, and when I turned to look at him, his chiseled features supported a comforting grin. I forced one in return. He and the others were hurting - I knew they would - but they could never understand my pain. 

Because of the rain, your burial was quicker than originally planned, but that was fine with me. The quicker it was over, the less it would hurt. Like ripping off a band-aid. When it was over I sent the guys away, feeding them some sort of lie about I just needed a moment to myself. I walked alone to your grave, the rain beating harshly on the top of my head. I touched my hand to your gravestone, tracing the ironic word etched into its surface.

foREVer.