I remember thinking, that it wasn't possible.
That it had to be someone else,
because the man I knew couldn't disappear like this.
I guess I was wrong.

That phone call with a broken friend on the other end,
left me in disarray until it hit me, a post-mortem punch to the gut.
Tears bled from my eyes, my stomach turned over inside of me.
I ached. I yelled. I weeped.

Sobbing remembrances of truth filling me,
overcome with the grief of it all,
holding fast to the only thing I knew to be true.
Jesus loves me, this I know.

My insides hemorrhaging, losing life fast.
Feeling my insides turn cold with broken loss.
Loss.
Cold, defiant, take no prisoner loss.

"Why? Why? Why?"
We've all asked that question, begging for answers we don't have,
and probably won't get.
Fact is, no answers are necessary.

Emptiness is fed by grief, and you need something else to fill the void
prevent emptiness from consuming the rest of you.
Everlasting, infinite, unending God,
perhaps, he would?

I remember my heaving chest coming to rest,
worn out, my eyes with no tears left to cry.
As I sat there with my hands before me:
willing my eyes to express the wrenching of my heart.

Instead, an ocean ran over my soul,
leaving me with a new taste in my mouth.
Not bitterness, fear, or emptiness.
Peace.

It stuck with me, it's still here.
A constant companion, a balm to my soul.
Reminding me of Jesus's love for me.
I can't explain it.

I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Was blind but now I see.

So when I see that empty seat,
there is a feeling of absence,
and sorrow, weariness, toil,
but never turmoil.

I miss you.
I think I always will.
I will remember you for your love.
I will remember you for your heart.

I will miss you, and I will be at peace.