Thomas Imel died today. He turned 17 yesterday.
When Mrs. Ellis came on the intercom and solemnly instructed all teachers to check their e-mail, I knew. I looked around the computer lab and watched my classmates' faces tense up in fear and begin to distort. They knew, too. And so my Biology teacher quietly shut the door. And she told us Thomas passed away. And many students began sobbing uncontrollably. And they left. And the "unaffected" returned to their work.
When Sascha died, it was different for me because I didn't have a face to match the name. His death felt like another statistic, another tradegy. But this feels real. I didn't know Thomas very well. I've had a handful of math classes with him over the years and his best friend's locker was right next to mine last year. So, you could say I'm used to seeing him around.
Time, yet again, has come to an abrupt halt for me. The world feels different. There are teachers with one less student, and classmates with one less friend. Parents with one less child. There is someone who will never graduate high school, someone who will never feel the anxiety and excitement of filling out college applications and someone who will never marry. There's someone who will never know that Senator Barack Obama became President Barack Obama last night (another topic for another day.)
I understand the (seemingly) bottomless sorrow of losing someone you love. But at the same time, I understand that everything God does is purposeful and done with love. I also understand that when we're smack-dab in the middle of grief, it's so hard to see the goodness of God's perfect plan. But it's there.
God will carry us through these difficult trials if we choose to rely on Him. He's the only true source of comfort, peace, courage and strength for us. For so many of you, I know it seems impossible to exist in a world where Thomas does not--but it'll be okay. You will be okay. You might not ever "get over" it.. but you'll get used to it.
Steven Curtis Chapman couldn't have said it any better in the verse he added to "Yours" after the death of his 5-year-old daughter, Maria Chapman, in May.
Still even here in this great darkness
When Mrs. Ellis came on the intercom and solemnly instructed all teachers to check their e-mail, I knew. I looked around the computer lab and watched my classmates' faces tense up in fear and begin to distort. They knew, too. And so my Biology teacher quietly shut the door. And she told us Thomas passed away. And many students began sobbing uncontrollably. And they left. And the "unaffected" returned to their work.
When Sascha died, it was different for me because I didn't have a face to match the name. His death felt like another statistic, another tradegy. But this feels real. I didn't know Thomas very well. I've had a handful of math classes with him over the years and his best friend's locker was right next to mine last year. So, you could say I'm used to seeing him around.
Time, yet again, has come to an abrupt halt for me. The world feels different. There are teachers with one less student, and classmates with one less friend. Parents with one less child. There is someone who will never graduate high school, someone who will never feel the anxiety and excitement of filling out college applications and someone who will never marry. There's someone who will never know that Senator Barack Obama became President Barack Obama last night (another topic for another day.)
I understand the (seemingly) bottomless sorrow of losing someone you love. But at the same time, I understand that everything God does is purposeful and done with love. I also understand that when we're smack-dab in the middle of grief, it's so hard to see the goodness of God's perfect plan. But it's there.
God will carry us through these difficult trials if we choose to rely on Him. He's the only true source of comfort, peace, courage and strength for us. For so many of you, I know it seems impossible to exist in a world where Thomas does not--but it'll be okay. You will be okay. You might not ever "get over" it.. but you'll get used to it.
Steven Curtis Chapman couldn't have said it any better in the verse he added to "Yours" after the death of his 5-year-old daughter, Maria Chapman, in May.
Still even here in this great darkness
A comfort and a hope come breaking through
As I can say in life or death, God, we belong to You
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment