Like Aaron Gillespie said, "Times change, people change, and sometimes change comes looking for you." The second act of this whole college thing is about to start, and several things will not be the same. Enter and exit the love interest. Re-enter some best friends. We have major. We have goal. We still don't know what the hell we're doing. And the scenery is about to change again.
I wanted to post right after these things started happening: after I found out about oxford, after she and I started fighting, after the break up. I didn't think it was fair, and I'm too flipping busy, so I didn't. But I need to write, and one little poetry workshop once a week won't cut it. This probably won't either, but I need to vent, to think, to compose. I can't figure things out in my head. I have to do it here. I have to do it now. Carla Kimsey is dead.
After years of her being sick, after years of fighting this battle everyone said she would lose in months, after all the improvements, the miracles and the relapses, and the tears, she's dead. It never quite registers. When someone dies I never really figure it out until I start writing to them or about them. Even then it's so bizarre. It doesn't seem real. And those were people I barely knew. Aside from Mr. Ben, this was the first one really close to home, and he died when I was just a kid. Grampa Lauren was a hermit who only spoke to me three times in my life. Papa Dave was the same. Sasha was someone I knew, but didn't see outside of school or church. I didn't even know Ray or JR. But even those deaths shook me. I wrote about them. I cried for Sasha. I cried for my Grandfather.
Why aren't I crying now? When it matters? When it's someone I cared about, someone close to my family, I shut down. My brain doesn't register. I called Cathryn trying to comfort her, and I was useless. I couldn't say anything. I've never had a problem giving advice or being comforting. I do it all the time, sometimes for people I barely know. Why can't I do it now? Not that it would really change anything. Holy shit, I can't believe she's dead.
The Kimseys have always been like family. She was like another mom to me sometimes, especially when I was little. I still remember her taking me and Jon-o to soccer practice or picking me and Cathryn up from church. I remember her telling us to be quiet when I spent the night at their house. I remember her hugs and the tired gentle smiles she always had. Her sarcasm. Her strength. I remember her cracking jokes with my parents at the dinner table. She's been in the hospital for weeks and we never visited her. Our family never went over there. We've been supportive throughout this whole time, praying for them, loving them, encouraging them. But we weren't there at the end. At least I wasn't.
She always said that she was ready. That God had given her peace and she accepted whatever he had for her. And she didn't die in six months. She lived another 8 years. Isn't that worth celebrating? She said she would have traded what she learned from this for anything. That until now she didn't know how much God loved her, how much her family loved her, how much her friends loved her. Would I be able to say that? To believe that? I don't even know what to think about it. I have no clue what it must be like for her kids, the kids I grew up with.
Carla Kimsey is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. She loved God and loved life through the calm and though the storm. She was a source of life, encouragement, and strength, even in her physical infirmity for all who knew her and many that didn't. The world is a poorer place without her. We all loved you Miss Carla. We'll see you again someday. Rest in peace. This is a change I don't ever want to get used to.
I wanted to post right after these things started happening: after I found out about oxford, after she and I started fighting, after the break up. I didn't think it was fair, and I'm too flipping busy, so I didn't. But I need to write, and one little poetry workshop once a week won't cut it. This probably won't either, but I need to vent, to think, to compose. I can't figure things out in my head. I have to do it here. I have to do it now. Carla Kimsey is dead.
After years of her being sick, after years of fighting this battle everyone said she would lose in months, after all the improvements, the miracles and the relapses, and the tears, she's dead. It never quite registers. When someone dies I never really figure it out until I start writing to them or about them. Even then it's so bizarre. It doesn't seem real. And those were people I barely knew. Aside from Mr. Ben, this was the first one really close to home, and he died when I was just a kid. Grampa Lauren was a hermit who only spoke to me three times in my life. Papa Dave was the same. Sasha was someone I knew, but didn't see outside of school or church. I didn't even know Ray or JR. But even those deaths shook me. I wrote about them. I cried for Sasha. I cried for my Grandfather.
Why aren't I crying now? When it matters? When it's someone I cared about, someone close to my family, I shut down. My brain doesn't register. I called Cathryn trying to comfort her, and I was useless. I couldn't say anything. I've never had a problem giving advice or being comforting. I do it all the time, sometimes for people I barely know. Why can't I do it now? Not that it would really change anything. Holy shit, I can't believe she's dead.
The Kimseys have always been like family. She was like another mom to me sometimes, especially when I was little. I still remember her taking me and Jon-o to soccer practice or picking me and Cathryn up from church. I remember her telling us to be quiet when I spent the night at their house. I remember her hugs and the tired gentle smiles she always had. Her sarcasm. Her strength. I remember her cracking jokes with my parents at the dinner table. She's been in the hospital for weeks and we never visited her. Our family never went over there. We've been supportive throughout this whole time, praying for them, loving them, encouraging them. But we weren't there at the end. At least I wasn't.
She always said that she was ready. That God had given her peace and she accepted whatever he had for her. And she didn't die in six months. She lived another 8 years. Isn't that worth celebrating? She said she would have traded what she learned from this for anything. That until now she didn't know how much God loved her, how much her family loved her, how much her friends loved her. Would I be able to say that? To believe that? I don't even know what to think about it. I have no clue what it must be like for her kids, the kids I grew up with.
Carla Kimsey is one of the most remarkable people I have ever met. She loved God and loved life through the calm and though the storm. She was a source of life, encouragement, and strength, even in her physical infirmity for all who knew her and many that didn't. The world is a poorer place without her. We all loved you Miss Carla. We'll see you again someday. Rest in peace. This is a change I don't ever want to get used to.
