BP post tribute
http://www.anthonychapels.com/ecom/sp/;cat=obituaries;obit=B2006184
Most of the time, our lives are fairly routine. We wake up, we go to work, or maybe we go to school. The point is that we do something with our lives. Or maybe the point is that we wake up, that we have that option. I’m not sure yet. I find sometimes that I can go for a little bit without having to worry about something. I just move along, excelling quietly in my own way, moving forward, getting tasks done, balancing my family and my friends, my job and the gym, my writing and making sure that I have time for myself, and for fun.
But rarely do we pause and if we do, we rarely take the time to reflect upon it. I believe that there are only certain times when you are stopped in your tracks. Terrible things happen all of the time-you only have to watch the news to see that- but they don’t always happen directly to you, or directly to someone you care about. That is, until they do.
Almost two weeks ago, someone I cared about died. It’s my first experience with the death of someone my own age. It’s my first experience in finding out that we’re not immune. That no matter how good you are, no matter how much people care about you, and no matter how much potential you have, sometimes it’s just not enough.
It hurts. It hurts to know that someone who you can so clearly visualize-his smile, his mannerisms, his shrug, just him; it hurts to know that he is no longer with us. It hurts to know that there are other people hurting too. That there are other people whose memories of him overlap with my own and then diverge, each forming their own special connection with him, not only to prove but also to insist, that he was so much more to us.
What happened to Jimmy was not an isolated incident. And it doesn’t have to pass by any of us without reflection; it doesn’t have to suspend itself, unspoken among our community, on any community, as just another tragic accident.
Tragedy strikes, I know that. And accidents happen, I know that too. But to see this happen to someone with so much life ahead of him; it just makes it that much harder. Alcohol didn’t help the situation, it certainly didn’t, but Jimmy was older than 21 and it was his right by law to imbibe alcohol. He fell. It was an accident. But it also happened.
I think that we have a responsibility to ourselves, to our parents, to our friends and to the people who care about us to take care of one another. I also believe that we have a responsibility to Jimmy to think about the situations we sometimes put ourselves in. You never want to see something like this happen. You never want to say goodbye to someone at the end of the night and never see them again. We owe it to Jimmy’s memory to strive for self-awareness. To be conscious of our limitations and our actions, and to the very best of our ability, watch out for ourselves.
Each time that someone has passed away in my life-my grandpa, my grandma and now Jimmy-I always expect the world to stop. I always expect that the world will pause, slowed down by my grief. And it will wait until I’ve started moving again. But it never does.
But with death, not everything is lost. We can remember you, we can remember this, and we can do our best to wake ourselves up for you.
Most of the time, our lives are fairly routine. We wake up, we go to work, or maybe we go to school. The point is that we do something with our lives. Or maybe the point is that we wake up, that we have that option. I’m not sure yet. I find sometimes that I can go for a little bit without having to worry about something. I just move along, excelling quietly in my own way, moving forward, getting tasks done, balancing my family and my friends, my job and the gym, my writing and making sure that I have time for myself, and for fun.
But rarely do we pause and if we do, we rarely take the time to reflect upon it. I believe that there are only certain times when you are stopped in your tracks. Terrible things happen all of the time-you only have to watch the news to see that- but they don’t always happen directly to you, or directly to someone you care about. That is, until they do.
Almost two weeks ago, someone I cared about died. It’s my first experience with the death of someone my own age. It’s my first experience in finding out that we’re not immune. That no matter how good you are, no matter how much people care about you, and no matter how much potential you have, sometimes it’s just not enough.
It hurts. It hurts to know that someone who you can so clearly visualize-his smile, his mannerisms, his shrug, just him; it hurts to know that he is no longer with us. It hurts to know that there are other people hurting too. That there are other people whose memories of him overlap with my own and then diverge, each forming their own special connection with him, not only to prove but also to insist, that he was so much more to us.
What happened to Jimmy was not an isolated incident. And it doesn’t have to pass by any of us without reflection; it doesn’t have to suspend itself, unspoken among our community, on any community, as just another tragic accident.
Tragedy strikes, I know that. And accidents happen, I know that too. But to see this happen to someone with so much life ahead of him; it just makes it that much harder. Alcohol didn’t help the situation, it certainly didn’t, but Jimmy was older than 21 and it was his right by law to imbibe alcohol. He fell. It was an accident. But it also happened.
I think that we have a responsibility to ourselves, to our parents, to our friends and to the people who care about us to take care of one another. I also believe that we have a responsibility to Jimmy to think about the situations we sometimes put ourselves in. You never want to see something like this happen. You never want to say goodbye to someone at the end of the night and never see them again. We owe it to Jimmy’s memory to strive for self-awareness. To be conscious of our limitations and our actions, and to the very best of our ability, watch out for ourselves.
Each time that someone has passed away in my life-my grandpa, my grandma and now Jimmy-I always expect the world to stop. I always expect that the world will pause, slowed down by my grief. And it will wait until I’ve started moving again. But it never does.
But with death, not everything is lost. We can remember you, we can remember this, and we can do our best to wake ourselves up for you.