September 19, 2016

Never Forget The Ones That Death Has Stolen Away

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You read the quote again and again until it resonates in your brain: “They say a person dies twice. One time when they stop breathing and a second time when somebody says their name for the last time.”

You find fuel in your heart as the words etch on your soul the way cancer did in her body. You find a mission, to let everyone know her name.

Strangers in your 7:30 AM lecture, you want them to know the name of the woman who gave you your eyes. Distant relatives who offered their condolences, you want them to hear about her undeniable strength as she held on to her last few breaths. Enemies who cursed her when she walked the earth, you want them to forever be trapped in the echoes of her kindness, despite their cruelty.

Leukemia patients that have given up hope, you want them to hear her story about how she was cured and how she would’ve had a long and happy future ahead of her if she hadn’t contracted pneumonia. People that have yet to understand the pain of losing a mother, you want them to open their eyes to the blessing of having their mother right by their sides, because you no longer have yours.

The husband that dedicated his life to her, you want him to know that every beat of her heart thumped to the rhythm of his repeated prayer to the God above to heal her. The daughters that she left behind, you want them to know the name that gave them life and the meaning behind the names that she gave to them.

You find that the pen and the paper are your greatest weapons, the weapons to fight the forgetful nature of the human mind, because how can the human mind be so weak to forget the name of someone so strong? You use the keyboard as a battle cry.

You use the Christmas cards as a love letter to show them her love echoes far greater than the name after the word “From.” You make July 6 a celebration, because it was when she was brought here in the first place. And every July 14, the day that tore her from your reach and crumbled to ash, she is reincarnated and alive in everybody’s words as they post countless Facebook statuses dedicated to her.

You hunt for every picture that shows off every angle and every possible place she has touched and use them as proof that she lived, she lived and she was here, she lived and she was standing right there. You make every candle lit in her honor become another light that leads those who dared forget her through a museum that shows all her fearless battles.

Your mission is to let people know her name, for them to never forget just who she really was, what kind of beast she fought, and how she prevailed. You lose yourself to the never ending goal of letting people remember the name of the woman who brought the stars within your reach with her brittle hands and promised to give you the moon as well, but death took her away before she could, and you’ll be damned if you’ll let her death be forgotten too.

When the night falls and your eyes seal shut, her name surfs the sound waves of infinity and boasts in her immortality, because every single time anyone says her name, she lives. TC mark

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