tears and tears and tears

It was Wednesday night, June 12, and I was at Girls Camp. Marohn and I had been talking for about an hour and a half, walking back and forth across the gravel road in front of our campsite. After going through a myriad of different topics, she started to share with me all of the things that she loved about her siblings. She told me with pride in her voice about her brilliant dad, her hard-working mom, her beautiful sisters, her talented brothers, and of course, her funny little brother Keaton.
We both talked about how smart and hilarious and skilled he was, and all of the funny things he and Weston (my little brother) did together. After all of the tears of the night, their silly adventures made us laugh.

Little did we know that Keaton only had 16 days left to live.

When my dad came into my room this morning and said that he had something to talk about with our family, death didn't even cross my mind. As the words fell out of my mom's mouth and the tears leaked out her eyes, the rest of us just kind of sat there, shocked.
For a few hours I was fine. My brain couldn't really understand or process what had happened.
Keaton, my little 6-year-old neighbor, dead?
That's impossible.

But slowly, as the day wore on, it started to hit me.

Never again will I hear a little knock at the door asking if Weston can play.
Never again will he show me the karate moves he learned.
Never again will we swing on the swings, or play board games, or have sword fights, or chase each other around the house, or tickle each other until we both laugh so hard.
Never again will I ask him "Hey Keaton, how are ya?"
and Never again will I hear "oh, I'm great!" in response.

And that little boy's potential.

He could have converted the world with his testimony, even though he was only 6.
He had the biggest smile I've ever seen, with bright blue eyes that seemed to light up the room.
He was a big ball of energy crammed inside a little boy's body.
He had a massive vocabulary - sometimes he would say things and I would do a double take, wondering how those words came out of such a little person.

I have some pretty funny memories with him.

One time I was home alone while my family was out running errands. I was in my bathroom getting ready for the day, when all of a sudden I hear the front door slowly start to creak open. I looked around for some kind of weapon to use (I guess my mind just goes to worst-case scenarios, haha) when I hear this little boy voice call out "Weston!! Can you play?" I started to laugh. I had been expecting some big burly robber, but instead I got to talk to one of my very favorite little boys.

Another day I was at their house, helping Marohn do her homework. Keaton really wanted to play, which didn't make a very good environment for working on math. I found two foam swords and challenged him to a duel. We raced around and around their basement, smacking each other and laughing and laughing. I'm not sure how much homework Marohn got done that day :)

In my digital photo class, I had to do some sort of hero assignment. I was kind of stumped, I had no idea what to take pictures of! Then I walked past Weston and Keaton playing upstairs, and as usual, Westy was dressed up in his Captain America costume that he had gotten for his birthday. I convinced them both to dress up as superheroes, and for the next 45 minutes, they jumped from Weston's bed with various heroic shouts and poses as I attempted to catch it on my camera.

Keaton and I always had funny conversations.

Me: Hey Keaton, how are ya?

Keaton: Great!

Me: How was your exercise today?

Keaton: Mm I haven't done it yet. I either do weights in my exercise room or jump on the tramp. The tramp is my favorite!

Me: Do you do weights on your own?

Keaton: Nope, with my dad.

Me: How did your family pictures go?

Keaton: Terrible for me, great for everybody else.

Me: Why is that?

Keaton: I had to sit for so long in an uncomfortable position.

Me: But did you smile big?

Keaton: Yes! like this...[huge half cheesy smile] :)

Keaton: Weston, I know everything about you!

Weston: How do you know?

Keaton: I guess I have a really smart brain!

Keaton: Hey Ashley, look at this!

Me: What is it Keaton?

Keaton: It's a chocolate rock [big grin]

Me: Whoa, where did you get that?

Keaton: My parents said that if I did my jobs for 6 days without being asked and without delay, I would get a prize!

All of these memories and thoughts flashed through my mind as my eyes filled with tears.

How could he just be gone?

Did it hurt when he died? Did he cry? Was he scared?

Is he with Him now?

And of course I cried even harder. 

Moroni 8 - "Little children are alive in Him."

Thank goodness for testimonies.

My mom was at their house all morning, helping to get laundry done and things cleaned up before Keaton's family got home.

Then I realized that wait, their family was coming home, and I would need to be there for Marohn. I would need to be strong and give words of comfort and help them feel better about the future.

So what did I do? Oh, I started crying even harder. 

A few hours later Marohn texted me, saying they were a few minutes away. Before I knew it, I was standing at in their kitchen, the only light filtered in through the windows, with people sobbing all around me. 

My mom went to his mom, and they hugged and cried and cried and cried. My mom had tears down her face, but his mom had lost all of her tears a long time ago. Instead it was a dry gasp of a broken heart. 

His dad stood there, a look of shock on his face. When his brother came to hug him, he grasped him around the neck and stood there for at least a full minute or two, and a loud sob was ripped from his throat. I think that was the worst part, seeing this man who I look up to for his strength and testimony and powerful presence, being so torn apart by the loss of his son. 

I hugged Marohn so tight that I worried I might crack her back. 

I'll never forget being in that home, the feeling that was in that room. The despair, the tears, the pain.

And yet we knew it would all be ok. That's what testimonies are for, right? But sometimes, you just have to cry anyways. Because even with a testimony, it's still hard. 

Later my mom, dad, Weston, and I went over again. We had printed out a bunch of pictures of Keaton and Weston that we had of them on their various adventures and play-days. When my parents first told Weston what had happened, his primary reaction was "Mom, let's take him a loaf of homemade bread!" So along with the pictures we carried two loaves of fresh wheat bread with two containers of homemade strawberry jam. 

We walked into the house again. All of the siblings were standing around in various stages of shock and tears. We all gathered in the family room, Weston on the floor with my mom, the rest of us grouped around him. 

He whispered to my mom that he needed a band-aid for his recent road-rash injury. Keaton's mom hurried to get one for him, and every one watched, riveted on Keaton's best friend, as my mom placed the band-aid over his scabbed knee and tearfully said "all better". 

Except it's not really all better. If only our hearts could be healed so easily, with big band-aids taped to our chests to hold the pieces together. 

One by one, Weston pulled out each picture as my mom explained the stories behind them. From their favorite games to hero costumes to birthday adventures, Weston and Keaton's adventures brought watery smiles and choked laughs. 

When Weston had finished, Keaton's dad softly thanked him for the gifts and for being Keaton's best friend. 

He said "Weston, do you know what I always imagined you and Keaton doing? I always thought you two would go on missions together. But I guess he got his call to serve a little earlier that we thought! And we won't be able to talk to him or write him, but I know that when you go on your mission, he will be there to help you. He loved the gospel, and he wanted to share it with everyone."

Fresh tears coursed down my face. Oh Heavenly Father, I know you need Keaton up there. But don't we need him down here too? 

Oh sweet Keaton. Serve your mission well. And someday, I know I'll see you again, except we'll both be perfect and glorious. 

And on that day, I'll say "How are ya Keaton?"

And then you'll say "oh I'm just great!"

it's called "I have an obsession with the stars."

sometimes, I look up at the stars and start to drown a little bit.
there is just something beautiful, something wonderful about them.
what would it be like to jump off the high dive and swim through the galaxies, sift the stars through my fingers, feel the planets move through my hair?

I think I love the stars because I love the One who created the stars. I think I love the stars because someday, I want to create them too.

I think I love the stars because they represent something new. well, not really new, because they've been around for thousands and millions and billions years, but new in the sense that they are always changing, being born and growing brighter and dying and then being born again.

you know, my life is changing a lot right now too. everything I thought I knew just ended, as fast as you could walk across a stage, which was almost faster than you could blink. it's as if twelve years of Sameness just walked out the door and I'm standing on the porch waving and crying and jumping up and down with excitement and tears are streaming down my face because I don't really want to say good bye, but at the same time I do because I'm ready for it. because this is what I've been preparing for. life. and now the time has come to actually live it and I'm not sure I'm ready but at the same time I am, because this is what I've been preparing for. you know, life.

I think I love the stars because they show me that there can still be light, even on the darkest night.

it seems like the world today is trying to smother out light: my light, your light, star light, Christ's light. but no matter how hard it tries, a lightbulb can't outshine every pinprick of light that shines in the velvety black canvas of night. and no matter how hard it tries, the world can't squish my little light, the one that is inside my heart, because even though it sometimes flickers, I promise you that I will never let it go out. it's the flame of truth. hope. confidence. testimony. and it's just going to keep on burning [Matthew 5:14-16].

I've learned something about myself lately, I mean, other than the fact that I love the stars and I think I should be a philologist when I "grow up" and that I'm not a huge fan of Nietzsche, even though he started out as a philologist. but anyway. I learned that I really love history, well duh, but that I really love family history. did you know that my eighth great-grandpa's name was Lars? and he had a son named Mogen Larsen who had a son named Lars Mogensen who had a son named Mogen Larsen who had a son named Lars Mogensen who had a son named Lars Larsen? I'm not even kidding. like, how cool is that? Lars lived in Herstedoster, Copenhagen, Denmark, but he joined the church, came to America, and five generations later, here I am.

"Does it make you wonder? Someday in the far future, when the Milky Way has turned another cosmic click, will someone carry a chair to your grave site and keep you company forever? Can you imagine someone loving you that much? Can I?" 

{one of my favorite books in the galaxy, Love, Stargirl}

does it make you wonder? maybe, when Lars was standing on the boat deck of the Minnesota watching his home disappear beneath the horizon, he too looked up and fell in love with the stars. maybe he found strength in the tiny pinpricks of light millions of miles away, because maybe he too found comfort in the thought of an all-knowing, all-powerful Being watching over him. so maybe, in a way, the stars are in my blood.

it makes me wonder. someday, after another cosmic click, will someone love me that much? will someone remember me, and how much I love books and rhetorical devices and logical fallacies and Kant, even though I don't really understand him, and Thoreau, even though I don't really understand him either, and bare feet and best friends and chocolate and words and hugs and stars? will someone lay a ribbon of the milky way at my grave, instead of a wreath of roses? will someone still care?

dear Lars. and Mogen. and Johanne. and Bodil. and Leonard. and Hannah. and William. and back and back and back. I do care. 

and I'll keep reading and learning and discovering and sharing, and maybe I'll find more stars that we can love together. and the best part is, we'll have eternity to do it :) and when we get to heaven, don't expect me to be floating on a cloud somewhere playing a lyre. oh no. I'll be dancing through the milky way, shaking stardust out my hair and sending comets spinning off my eyelashes.