I hate growing up. I hate it with a passion. With growing up comes responsiblity, understanding, real compassion, and true sadness. I would gladly give up all the good things that have come with growing up to not have to live with the demons in my head that claw their way through my concsious thought, reminding me of the pain and sorrow I've already known in my short 20 years. Truthfully I could easily have done much worse, and I should be thankful for what has been given to me, but if these are the greatest times of my life, what the hell am I looking forward to? I've stood before the coffin of one of the most outstanding people I knew and had no explanation for her death. It took me nearly five years to come to terms with Elizabeth's death, though I still feel a knife twisted in my heart from time to time. I cannot escape her memory, so I do not try. I instead try to channel the pain, anger, sorrow, and all the other emotions that have been associated with her loss and shape them into something that I believe will help make the world a better place. The Memories page is the most predominant example that many of you already know (and if you aren't familiar with it you won't understand the rest of this babbling). I tried to take my learned lessons to camp last summer, and I told even more people how her death had changed my life so drastically.

But no matter how much I try to forget, I can't. I won't be allowed to forget, even if I would try. Both this year and last year I recieved e-mails from complete strangers regarding my Memories within the week prior to when her birthday would have been, and within the week prior to her death five years ago. I don't care who or what you choose to believe in or not believe in, stuff like that simply doesn't "just happen." For whatever reason, the burden I chose to shoulder three years ago when I posted the Memories for the first time is still carried with me today, though I would sometimes prefer to lay it aside and forget for a time why I am so sullen and downcast most of the time.

But when I think of forgetting and passing the torch on to someone else, I have to pause, shake my head, and re-shoulder the burden. I would not for all the riches of Heaven wish the emotional torment I experienced on anyone else for any reason. It seems as though no one else is willing to do what I have done, so I will continue to endure so that others might not have to. Though I have done my best to keep others free, I have been thwarted by the Powers That Be (aka God). Last month a student at West Central hung himself, and two days later a very close friend of our family passed away from an illness that had been plaguing him for years. The former especially caused my sister, whom I had tried the hardest to insulate, to be brought into the same tourtured state of mind that I have dwelt in for years. She talked to him via MSN Messenger only a few hours before he passed away, and she will be forever tormented that she did not catch on to his plans, just as I will be forever tormented that I kept my mouth shut when I could have said something about drinking. It truly breaks my heart to know that my sister will now have to live with similar psychological torture, and I wish I could take the pain away from her, but I can't. I can only tell her what has worked for me.

There are two things that have helped me cope more than anything else. The first is the knowledge that I have actually changed people's lives. I could go into detail about people I know that have been affected by my pleas for sanity, but I will simply say thank you to those that actually did listen. The second is a parable of sorts told to me at camp last summer by Erin Gulya. It is something akin to this:
Imagine for a moment you knew nothing about modern medicine. Now, imagine a man undergoing open-heart surgery. What would you see?
You might see a man lying on his back, strapped to a table; tubes shoved inside his arms; a mask covering his face. You might see him being rendered unconscious, just before his chest was cut open with a saw.
You might see a man about to be tortured and killed.
However, our knowledge of modern medicine tells us that this pain is inflicted upon the man for a greater cause-- in this instance, unclogging his heart so he may continue to live. It is in this way that God inflicts seemingly random pain and suffering upon mankind. What we endure is done so for a greater end, but the plan that God has in mind is far beyond our understanding. We can do no more than trust.

As such I have put my faith in God that he will guide my actions in ways that he sees fit. If he sees fit to remind me every time I want to try to forget about Elizabeth's death, so be it. There is a reason, even if I don't know what it is. Maybe the reason is so simple that it takes a man with little grasp of english to point it out to me-- 'this must be love!'

Perhaps it is my over-stimulated imagination, but there are times that I cannot shake the feeling she is watching me. I believe this is one of those times.

The hour in which she died five years ago is upon me. I sit in the darkness of my dorm room with only the bright glare of the monitor to reveal the humorless face reflected in the mirror next to me. No one else is here... but there is someone here. In my heart and in my mind she is sitting on the edge of my bed, smiling sadly, waiting for me to go to sleep. Until I do she will watch silently, unseen but not unknown. Her face is smooth, without the jagged scar along her jaw and small bruises on her face that marred her beauty in death. Her smile, so contagious and warm during life, is absent now. In its place is only the most vague hint of upturned corners of her mouth, a smile caused not by happiness but by the attempt at honoring her memory I make. She and I both know it is not the best it could be, but she knows I try. She silently pleads for me to shut my music off, for the knows it only serves to sadden me further. She wishes that I would remember her life and not her death. I apologize to her time and again for dwelling on the sadness, but she knows that the road I have chosen has its consequenses, and she can do no more than watch as I unsuccessfully try to keep from trembling while I type. She smiles. It is exactly as I remember it. For a moment, I no longer shake.

I will shoulder the burden. I will carry the torch. I will teach. I will keep my promise. I will remember. Always. I love you, in my own twisted little way.

Russ