Dedicated to the eight departed classmates from Hamilton Class of ’06 and high school class of ’10.
Dear Rodney, Britney, Kelsey, Jarve, Ryan, Katherine, Devin, and Rikki,
Today was Thanksgiving 2020.
I don’t know what else to say other than it was a weird time.
Truth be told, it’s been a weird year. Families separated from each other. People getting sick. People passing on. This is the holiday that always feels like it brings people together—relatives that don’t typically see one another, an opportunity to take a cross country flight or make that long, once-a-year road trip.
Words are exchanged. Hopefully the gathering of all the family brings some semblance of joy and happiness, although I’m sure there’s always some tension in the air when it comes to family history. We argue about what tastes good and who made that one dish that nobody touched. We get political. We criticize. We laugh. We reminisce of the past. We wonder whether we must tremble or anticipate a much needed future that looks closer to a world we’re used to. We have these thoughts.
When we are here.
Somehow, for reasons I do not know, for reasons I must only look to the sky and shake my head, you are not.
Those of us who knew you and those of us that knew you well are left to ponder your absence. To wonder why. And how. But mainly why.
We see your grainy silhouettes in front of us. We conjure up your memories like magicians with arthritic wrists bearing immortal wands— as if your beings had visited us yesterday or as if you could reappear by mere mention of your names, mannerisms, gestures, and idiosyncrasies. We clutch your photos as if you are still in them, our eyes glazed, trying to make sense of the scene.
We cannot walk or breathe. We cannot think or act. We cannot do without thinking of you. We live—or try to, still in a state of shock mixed with a state of bliss, this disjointed feeling of succeeding to hold on and failing to let go. Embracing something that is as soon there as it is not.
Rodney, I can see your command. I can see it as clear as day. I can see your mustache—fully grown, just as it had been the moment you step into third grade. I can see myself in the basement room at your grandparents house on Corliss. I can see your hair growing longer and longer, completely covering your eyes, yet somehow not capable of blocking your vision. I can see your fingernails painted. I can see you as the president of our middle school. I can see the beam in you grow and grow as the years go on. The endearing leader. An open heart for everyone.
Britney, I can see your current. I can see your vibration. I can see the mistake in judging a book by its cover for you never know the power that lies underneath. I can see the brightness behind the eyes and the welcoming of being misunderstood. I can see the individuality. I can see the desire to walk to your own beat. I can see the jewelry and the dyed hair. I can see your fire.
Kelsey, I can see your creativity. I can see you in eighth grade. I can remember thinking that there was no way you had been at school all three years because I for sure would have remembered you. I can see your calm and the way you keep to yourself. I can see the way you make an immediate impact on those who must have been awaiting your arrival from the very first day. I can see the way you work in deep thought and then subsequently join classmates and play around with wood/metal shop tools as if your mind had been two places at once—developing your next work of art, but allowing time for shenanigans, too.
Jarve, I can see your charisma. I can see you in the hallways. I can see the way you take up space. There is a joy and aura about you that can fill up the entire school. I can see you being one of the few people that actually seem to fit into the big things we are wearing at this time, all those oversized jerseys and shirts we try to wear. I can see you playing basketball outside on the blacktop and later in Ms. Docter’s gym. I can see the way you run free. On your time. I wonder what it must feel like to be a giant.
Ryan, I can see your evolution. I can see the timid, elementary school version of you. I can see the more confident edition I see at Hamilton, who can win over anyone with your tall lanky frame and shaggy hair. I can hear the bass in your voice and how your sort of chuckle-mixed-laugh and growing sarcasm start to raise us all up. I can see the changes, albeit not in your ability to whoop my ass in any video game, blindfolded. I can see the finding of yourself and the settling in.
Katherine, I can see your patience. I can see your gift for refusing to judge others at a time when we are judged the most. I can see your reason. I can see the way your quietness and gift of listening give your dearest friends strong shoulders to lean on. I can hear how the very mention of your name can bring joy to others. I can see your adoration for the Mariners—the shirts, the attendance at games. I can see the marvelous way you are able to smile with your eyes. I can see the sense of humor, the compassion, and the mischief there.
Devin, I can see your gravity. Like Kelsey, you show up in 8th grade, but it couldn’t have taken more than a second for people to realize that you bring a power with you. I can see the respect. I can see the way you treat everyone the same. The way your time had no name on its inscription. I can see the magnetism—the way you are never by yourself for too long because there is an energy that gives us all life that we have to attach to. I can see the way you are wise beyond your years. Mature. Somehow further along than the rest of us were in the way you hold yourself. With all of that, how are you able to be so easygoing and even-keeled?
Rikki, I can see your attitude. I can see it from a mile away and, in turn, that bright spark hiding just beneath the surface of that body armor. I can see your blonde hair, puffy coat, chip-on-your-shoulder and take-no-shit-from-nobody character. I can see your devilish grin. I can hear your cadence. Oh the cadence! I can see the way people admire you. Listen to you. Still listen for you.
These are the things I see. And feel. Sometimes more than others and to varying degrees. Sometimes it is a sound. A look. A laugh. Sometimes it is a state of mind. A mood. A color. The weather. A mention of a name. The way a cloud parts and the sun shines. Well, that has to be you, right?
There are immeasurable powers in your memories and these are gifts that need no wrapping for they will always be open, so long as your spirits remain alive.
You were all taken from this earth way too soon and it will never, ever, ever seem fair.
The way life works in equally mysterious and unforgivable ways…
We continue to miss you.
We continue to love you.
We continue to remember.