Death is not the end, and Hope is on the horizon

It’s been a year

One year ago today my cousin Logan died. 25 years old, his vices took his life and our family has been dealing with the tragedy since then. As his oldest cousin on his mom’s side, my role was different than the other cousins. I was his babysitter, his tutor, and his oldest friend in many ways.

He allowed me to be silly when the other cousins wanted to be “cool.” As he got older, our relationship changed. I tutored him a couple summers, as he struggled with reading comprehension in early elementary.

He liked playing tricks on me. He once set off a couple fart bomb toys in my Jeep Cherokee. Boy was I mad. But he just laughed and I got over it.

Family should not be taken for granted

Too often, as we age, our lives change and connecting with cousins and relatives becomes too challenging. People move. People get married. People become estranged. But Logan and I stayed in touch over the years. As his struggles grew, we did grow farther apart, but my busy schedule was just as responsible.

Believing that a member of the family will always be there cannot be the way in which we schedule family gatherings. All of us should be willing to make time, as we do not know when the last time will be.

Grief.

The healing process after is hard. And anniversary dates such as today sworm up old feelings that got pushed down when being strong was the only acceptable emotional reaction.

I took Logan’s passing very hard. Realizing his life was no longer on this earth, but that his soul had moved on to God’s eternity, I didn’t do comedy or anything else for at least a month. I had some pre-committed shows in November that I did, but mostly, I read, I cried, and I processed the pain.

Yet each day since, I haven’t really come to grips with his passing. I simply just moved on. Recently, I saw First Man, about Neil Armstrong’s personal struggles while reaching the goal of landing on the moon. Watching his daughter die, as well as fellow NASA astronauts, he struggled through, and I started to tear up, thinking about his life and my cousin Logan. Grief might not be seen, but’s ever present.

The healing process

I don’t know if we ever heal. As Frodo told Sam, “some wounds go too deep,” and the battle scars and missing limbs of the heart and soul cannot be replaced. But that’s why there is hope.

Hope.

Hope is all we can have now. The hope that redemption and resturation is possible. Not the hope that Logan will return. King David said that message about his stillborn, “He cannot come to me, but I will go to him.” No, the hope I speak of is that a new day will come, a new sunrise will open up the skies of our spirit, and that we can honor him by not repeating the past, and helping those who face similar trials. Logan had lost some hope. Therefore I must honor him by hoping in a tomorrow I cannot see, and living as if I can accomplish his desired good works in how I live my life. With humor. With tenderness. With love.

Final thoughts

He lived a short life, but a rich one, filled with love, adventure, and loyalty to his friends. My emotions stem from a place of leadership, as the eldest cousin, but my head knows that he would be the first to say to me, “You gotta move on, Paul. I made my choices. Now go make yours.”

So that’s all I can do and will do. And writing this blog is one way in which I move on. And next year I’ll report on how I’m doing again. Until I no longer feel that need.

For I know the journey is complex and doesn’t end in this life. We are not just food for maggots, as some may say, as Shakespeare wrote through his characters. I may not know what the other side looks like; I have an idea though, based on how I view God and his Son. And that gives me hope when I need it most.