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!"
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