March 17th

Once in their life, I think everyone receives a phone call that makes their heart stop just a bit the next dozen times their phone rings, makes them look at phone calls in a way in which nothing will ever undo.

For me, that call came on March 17th, 2013.

I was asleep, still dreaming away the last blissful hour before I got up for church. The How I Met Your Mother theme song jolted me into unpleasant consciousness and sent me stumbling to my dresser to see a very unexpected contact illuminating the screen. Immediately I knew something wasn't right.

The seconds after I answered knocked my sleepiness clean out of me and took my breath with it as my friend, in the most broken voice I'd ever heard a human being emit, told me what had just happened. The next twenty minutes are a blur. I think I said some things. I have no idea if they made any difference. I don't know if anything does at that moment.

My parents process shock very differently than I do. My mother responds the way she might if I was telling her that the dog had ruined the expensive carpet: with extreme disbelief, as if I was playing some cruel joke. My father responds the way I might if I got to school on the day of a huge test or project and then realized I'd forgotten to do everything I needed for my final grade: like somehow he forgot to do something that might have prevented whatever it was that happened. Neither of their reactions ever give me any comfort. Sitting on their bed and holding their hands as we whispered prayers was terrifying because I felt like the strongest one in the room.

School made me angry as everyone offered their theories and I sat there trying not to yell that they weren't there to hear the broken voice and how dare they act as if they knew anything. Then I would get angry at myself for thinking that the fact that I was called somehow made me better. As if it would change anything that I knew before they did.

For days, I avoided looking at the corner of my bedroom I'd stared at while on the phone. For weeks, my heart would jump into my throat when I heard my ringtone. For months, the permanence of the whole thing was a weight I couldn't remove. And worse when it began to fade was the realization that there were others who would never be able to remove it.

I'll never stop praying, but there are some things that even prayer cannot undo, and that hurts.

So I'm sorry that I didn't get excited about the color green or shamrocks today, but when I see the date I keep remembering when I stared at the same number on my phone 365 mornings ago and told myself to remember it.

As the years move on, these questions take shape-

are you getting stronger, or is time shifting weight?

No one expects you to understand,

just to live what little life your mended heart can.