Known, Spoken, Appriciated

I’ve always hated articles, stories, memorabilia, and friends that pop up only after a person dies.  Do people only care for another after they are dead?  You’ll never see a headline with, “Brad Pitt still living: Thousands gather to appreciate his on-going life.”  We can influence the world in unimaginable ways, but do we really know how many people we’ve touched until they all come out of the woodwork to give thanks and mourn our passing?  Why does no man ever just say, “You are a great person,”?  They are always standing over a casket using the past tense before they will show true gratitude for that person.  This being true, it is a disturbing thought that you will never know how much you are love; only those who come to your service will know.  It is disturbing that we don’t realize the value of something until it is gone.  It is disturbing how, in death, you can teach more than you did in life. 

         I’ve felt the death of two students in my years in high school, both had graduated a few months before they passed.  One was a man I never knew, but was widely respected, talented, and loved.  He died in the arms of his girlfriend, the cause was a drug overdose.  Because his parents couldn’t afford a burial, and since he was so influential in our school, our chorus teacher organized a charity concert in his honor.  Never have I seen more people in one place for a school event.  It was a beautiful thing to see so many people gathered to appreciate his life, and even help him in death.  Four thousand dollars were raised that night, so that he could be put to rest.  I never knew him, hadn’t even heard his name until his death, but just hearing his band play for him, and witnessing the sea of people crowded into the small theater showed me how the living are unappreciated.  Those people wouldn’t have been talking, crying, or even acknowledged one another if that boy hadn’t have died.

         The second death deserves a name, eulogy, and far more than I can provide, but I wouldn’t be in a position to give that to her.  I did not know this girl as a best friend, but she was the type of person who would always say, “Hi, Mark,” with a genuine smile, and was simply a nice person to be around.  Her aura wasn’t at all hindered by the disease that put her permanently in bandages and a wheelchair.  It is unfair for me to describe her because I only knew her briefly, but, even in that time, I grew to respect her, not for her condition, but because she was a delightful person.  When I saw we shake hands with the principle after she walked across the stage to receive her diploma, I thought to myself, “She is a very funny person, I really like her, she is a wonderful person.”  Now I wish I had told her that, and will always regret keeping my feelings to myself.  She died September 2nd, 2009, three months after her thunderous applause for walking to her diploma.  There is no concert being organized at our school, no songs being written for her, just a dull pain left in the hearts of those that will miss her friendly quirkiness.  Those who loved her in life now mourn her in death.  It is saddening and regretful that she could have never known how many people appreciated her just because she was genuine.  A truly marvelous person who made lives a tad more beautiful, and who taught me a lesson that I base my character off of now:  You should always, constantly make sure your love is known, appreciated, and spoken, before it cannot be said.