Rejected

Space limitations! I didn't get in to NEU, but I saw that one coming.












What a week.

Aaron

This morning while I was ungreatfully zoning out at graduation practice, impatiently waiting for my name to be called, my cousin Aaron lost his nearly 18 month battle with brain cancer.


Thanksgiving was the first time I can actually remember meeting Aaron. Sure, I had seen him in previous years, on various holidays and anniversaries. I may have smiled at him with my young teeth, but I often shyed away from my older cousins as a little girl. And before I knew it, before anyone knew it, he was out in California, living his life. No, Thanksgiving 2005 was the first time I've actually conversed with this young man. My most vivid memory of him is the last time I ever saw him.

Aaron lived in California. He rode his bike everywhere. He went to school. He had friends. He worked. He smiled. He loved.

When he came back East for Thanksgiving this year, we all knew. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumour. He was so optimistic about it. So positive. So sure. So willing to fight it. So faithful. I don't think I've ever met anyone as full as hope as he was--so full of hope, that it gave the rest of us hope. Instead of focusing on the fact that Aaron was dying, we were able to see that he was alive, and how beautiful life is. Considering what he went through, he put up quite the fight. He joked about it--when he came into my house, my dog jumped on him, as he often does, and he said "Don't jump on me! I'm the sick one!" I didn't know what to say. He even showed us pictures of his brain surgery-something that would traumatize most. Yet he bravely showed us. Showed us what he went through. But even showing us wasn't enough to actually know.


In the final e-mail he wrote to us, he said "I am in good hands. My Father, my friends, my family, have continued to give me the elevation to see out beyond the bayou towards theshore. Without you I would still be wondering aimless." He was so thankful for everything. I don't know what he was looking for in California, but I hope he found it. I really hope he did.

I barely knew Aaron. And I will never get the opportunity to know him. And it is one of the things I most regret. We will never see him again. He will never again ride his bicycle. We will never see him smile. Not his father, his sister, Rose, us, his friends, his classmates, his co-workers. We won't hear him laugh. His love, however, will remain with us. It will stay and it will grow, because we remember how much we loved him. He was so young.