“That Experience of Justin”

Tapping on the keyboard, I remember why I have avoided sitting down to write, new software updates. Life feels complicated and sometimes the simplest thing, like new formatting and design, is too big a hurdle. But I feel the sludge moving that has held me in stasis for these last two years, it is cracking and falling off in chunks and I feel the stories and words tumbling around and needing space to fly.

Today is the twelfth anniversary of Justin’s death. Stalking me in the days prior is the nausea, the creeping sensation and anxiety that something awful is going to happen, it already has, he’s dead, but my body anticipates the shock and devastation of hearing those words, “your son, Justin, is dead.” I mourn the innocence lost that day, but I no longer mourn the woman I was that day. Evolving through cycles of death and rebirth these last twelve years has borne a new creation and I like her, quite a lot.

On this twelfth anniversary of Justin’s death, I want to share words spoken of him at a memorial mass that was held in South Dakota were he was a graduate student. I could not listen to the recording of the homily or read the words in their entirety until this year, raw wounds bleed, and I had not the reserves to touch those wounds until now. Below are portions of the text that sums up “that experience of Justin.”

“I invite you just to take a moment and take stock of your thoughts and your feelings at this moment, as we offer this Memorial mass for the Repose of the soul of our brother Justin. I know since I got the call from his mom, Terri, on Monday night, just before ten o’clock, I’ve taken stock of what’s in my heart. I found different things. First was stunned shock and disbelief. Followed by sadness, deep sadness. A kind of questioning wonder. And back and forth, through a variety of emotions and memories and reflections

I keep being drawn back to a place of comfort and assurance, knowing Justin’s faith. He was a man of deep faith. He knew the love of God. It had touched his heart. It had shaped his life.

…I think a lot of times in the face of a sudden, unexpected and tragic death like Justin’s, the question is often posed, if you knew today was the last day of your life, what would you do?

I keep thinking of a different question. If I knew this was the last time I would be in the presence of another person, either because it was their last day, or simply because our paths never cross again for whatever reason. How would I treat them? How would I treat them?

And what I would hope to be able to say with greater accuracy and more truth each day, is that my interaction with each person is a blessing. That what they would experience from me is a blessing. A communication maybe in simple kindness, in a word of encouragement, a listening ear sincere friendship…

I keep thinking of this because this is the truth about every conversation and interaction I had with Justin. He was a blessing. His quietness and shyness, in his deep goodness, his faith, his intelligence, the beauty of who he was as a son of God. In really simple and ordinary ways I always came out of a conversation with him, a little interaction, passing the hall, feeling blessed, feeling blessed. That will stay in my heart the rest of my days, that experience of Justin.”

“That experience of Justin.”