I Hope the Angels Know What They Have

I can’t believe I wrote a post a few weeks ago lamenting my age lines and the deterioration of my body, when it’s such a privilege to grow old enough to see those withered lines looking back at me in the mirror. The longer we live, the more we experience the loss of loved ones around us, and I don’t think it ever gets easier. Sure, the only thing guaranteed in life is death, as it waits for all of us in the end. But why does it come for those so young? I was prepared for my grandparents, and my last grandparent alive (my maternal grandmother) whom, right before she passed, even expressed to me how ready she was and that she lived a long, good life and could not wait to be reunited with my grandfather. What I’m not prepared for is someone so young, whom I truly care about, dying suddenly and tragically. Why? A soul so good and pure, with so much potential, and their whole life ahead of them. One of the most caring and selfless individuals I was fortunate enough to know, gone, in the blink of an eye. I want to scream that it’s not fair; that a person with so much good in his life and so much left to do should still be here. In a world full of so much cruelty and turmoil, he was a shining light and a reliable and great person. This wasn’t the way his life was supposed to go.

Lane didn’t deserve to die. I hate even saying that word; it feels like acrid poison on my tongue, weighing it down and making it harder to speak. But that’s the phone call I got and one I never want to hear again. Grief. It consumes you within seconds, enveloping your whole body and mind and weighs heavily on your chest, suffocating you and making it difficult to catch your breath. I was expecting a jovial hello and a question asking me to coach him at the upcoming Jiu Jitsu tournament. What I got was a sobbing and grief-stricken father whom I have always been close with, delivering me the most devastating news of my life. I felt the words catch in the lump now forming in my throat; I couldn’t swallow, could hardly breathe, and even as a writer, words failed me. I knew not what to say, as everything felt insufficient, except to say that my husband and I would be there no matter what. And we will be, because the motto at our gym is ‘Not All Family is Blood’ and every student that walks through our doors truly becomes family.

I struggle to process death in general, but especially with people so juvenile, and with so much possible life still ahead of them. I’ve fortunately only attended a handful of funerals with those so young, but it truly is one of the worst experiences to endure, especially watching the impact it has on loved ones still on this earth. I’m trying to find ways to cope with the feelings of loss, and have looked to listening to music with updated Spotify playlists and even exploring new avenues of writing (see the poem below). But during the quiet moments alone, I struggle. I cry and become filled with sadness and start looking through old photos as the tears keep falling, and even became somewhat hysterical when I saw his current gym promoted him to black belt at a memorial service in his honor. I knew we would always be black belts together. I get angry thinking about the fact that he’s gone and this shouldn’t have happened and he deserved so much more in life. Then I feel guilty wondering if I did enough the last time we met up (for dinner after everyone competed in Las Vegas at Master’s Worlds and the Con). Did I hug him long enough?’ Did he know how much we all loved him and missed him and his family since they moved? Why didn’t I take any pictures? I hate myself for not taking pics. I was so busy enjoying the moment and that night and have no pictures of the evening. I guess I figured I would take them next time, and now I feel so upset with myself for not doing it then. Life really can change in the blink of an eye.

Instead of focusing on the end of life, I’d like to shift my focus to the celebration of life instead, specifically the wonderful life of Lane Peters and the joy he brought to mine. I have so many wonderful memories that I can reflect on when I think of him, and that helps ease the pain ever so slightly. From early tournament days where he would be so proud when he executed a move I taught him (you should have seen when he pulled off the cement mixer). To him always telling me he was going to beat my deadlift record, in which I told him he would not only beat it, but he would far surpass it, and of course he messaged me exclaiming his pride the day that he did just that. When Lane got promoted to purple belt this past March, at only 17 years old where he competes in the juvenile division for IBJJF, I was one of the first people he texted, immediately sending me a video and sharing in that jubilation. My exact words to him are in the picture below, where I meant every word I said about how proud I was of his hard work. And the last time we met up and had dinner, he got into a food eating competition with one of our other teammates, a much older guy named Trevor. He swore he could eat more food than him, but his distaste for anything in the ‘salad’ family kept him from eating the arugula on to of his pizza, in which he already had 6 slices. Trevor wouldn’t accept defeat because of the left over greens on his plate, so Lane, being the devout competitor he was, choked down those pieces of lettuce with tears in his eyes, stifling gags, in order to be declared the winner. He was a champion that day, and will always be remembered as one in my heart.

Grief

Tragedy strikes, and blisters my heart

The tears begin to fall, tearing me apart.

Gasping for air, it’s so hard to breathe

Loudly I scream, but silently I grieve.

Why did this happen? It just makes no sense,

You had so much left to live for, this pain is intense.

My whole soul is consumed with a sadness so strong,

Life is so fleeting, some short and some long.

And I have no idea why it’s always the young,

The best people in the world, the songs still unsung.

And these wounds won’t stop bleeding deep in my mind,

Because I still don’t know what to say, the words I can’t find.

Death comes for us all, but I wish it would wait,

Especially for you, my brother you were great.

The motto for our gym sticks to us like mud,

Always we say, ‘Not All Family Is Blood.’

And I promise to keep your memory alive,

Every time I’m on the mats, for you I will strive.

Dearest Lane, be at peace, and your spirit won’t sever,

Just know that I love you, and I’ll miss you forever.