It was almost ten o'clock. I decided to make my way into Sts. Peter and Paul Church. I was going there on that day to "celebrate the death and rebirth" of a very close friend, Gavin Gusak. Even though the priest attempted to make this an almost joyous occasion, I could find no room for celebration in my heart.
I remember feeling much more calm at Gavin's funeral because I had attended the Rosary. So many thoughts filled my head, but mostly thoughts of guilt for never letting Gavin know what a close friend I considered him. I thought about when we were younger, everything was simpler then. We never left the neighborhood, our skateboards being our only mode of transportation. We never even thought about the future, never thinking about the things that might happen.
Gavin had a unique personality that made him well liked by whoever met him. He was good-hearted and always had a smile on his face. I think the priest at Gavin's funeral summed him up best when he said, "Gavin was always a little bit ornery with a smile." He wasn't perfect, and never claimed to be, but he was a good person.
While sitting at the funeral, I thought about Gavin's death. I thought about the great time we had at Homecoming. I saw Gavin there and we were enjoying ourselves recalling old times. It all seemed so routine, I had no idea I'd never see him again.
I was so nervous on the night of the Rosary, wondering how many people have lost a close friend to drunken or reckless driving. Who might I lose next? It terrified me to even consider this. When I was praying for Little Brother (that was Gavin's nickname because of his size compared to most of his close friends), it was so hard to look down at him. It didn't look like the Galvin I knew. At that moment I realized I'd never see him again.
What bothered me most was that Gavin was so young, he never got a fair chance at life. He would never get the chance to graduate or get to see his little brother Clifton grow up. He'd never get to tell relatives how much he really cared, to hear how much people cared about him, and to enjoy life to its fullest. We all loved you, little brother, we'll never forget the good times. That's all we've got now.
July 2011
My dear friend Brandy called and said, "I'm going to St. Mary's today. Do you want to go? I'm going to visit Gavin today." I felt my heart hit my gut because it had been 20 years since I'd been to the cemetery. After the initial thump I braced for the guilt and it never hit. I wasn't sure why but upon entering the cemetery the normal river of tears was nowhere to be seen. I started to realize I wasn't carrying the guilt I remember carrying as a kid. Although I hadn't been back since a few months after his funeral, but had honestly had him in my heart and mind virtually everyday since then.
I never fathomed going back and ever feeling remotely calm or at peace but I did this day, it felt like the three of us were at the park smoking and laughing. I could hear his voice and feel his presence. We did cry a little but we laughed, shared some smoke, and caught up. A lot of smiles and "you remember when?" Right then I prayed that his family and other friends had gotten to a somewhat comfortable place with their grief. I hoped they realized there is no good reason to harbor guilt over mixed "goodbyes." I could see Gavin smiling down on me, reassuring me it is as good as we've heard on the other side, and I can relax and live out my earthly life in peace. Thanks to Brandy and Gavin for inspiration.
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