Solstice in December

I stare out at the sea of black, fingers clenched around the material in my hands. You wouldn't have liked this, I know. You wouldn't want everyone to be crying over you; you'd want them to remember you with the same joy and happiness that always seemed to surround you. This day should have been bright and cheery; the sky should not be weeping, nor should the sun be hiding behind darkened clouds of depression.

I stand back from the crowd. It's probably your influence that causes me to do so. You never were one to follow everyone else.

They've asked me to speak for you. For you. As if you're still alive and it's merely another award celebrating your person. I wish with all my heart that was it. But now a path has formed down the center of mourners, red faces and blood-stained eyes all looking to me, as if I am Moses and have come to save them from this sea of agony. How can I save them if I can't save myself?

The walk is short, yet hours pass. I stop to place your jersey on the coffin; no. 12 and fiercely proud of it. My slight smile through the tears is horribly misplaced in the scene. I take a deep breath to hold back the tears and start talking; not for you, but to you.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way. I know it wasn't." I hear a choked sob on the right. "You were the best of us; always were. I've yet to meet another person like you. And I doubt I ever will.

"We were terribly opposite, you and I. Quite the pair. You were so sure of yourself; so confident. I was confident when I was around you. You made me see the joy and simplicity of life. You made me live for now and enjoy every moment life had to offer, rather than seeing only the future and what I had to do now to make life better later. You told me jokingly once, that you never knew when your later wouldn't come. I'm glad that your life, though short, was what you wanted it to be.

"Everyone who knew you loved you, you know that? You were always the favorite of every teacher, always the star of every team. Everyone wanted to be your friend, but that didn't matter because you were friends with everyone anyways."

I pause here, regarding the blackness before me. The rain is letting up. Sad smiles now grace a few of the faces around me. Good. They're starting to remember.

"You had a passion for sports and you loved to write. Oh, how well you could write. You always said that one day, when you were old and gray and tired to the bone, you'd write for a living. When nothing else would matter to you but that. You would have made a fabulous writer.

"But still, I never quite understood you. You often claimed to be the most bitter seventeen year old in the world. I happened to agree. You didn't believe in true love, merely intense companionship. I, in a fit of exasperation once, asked you how you could believe such a thing. How you could live every day not believing in your heart that there is one person out there, just for you. You shrugged, shrugged, and said you didn't like to think your options were limited."

The sun is peaking out from behind the clouds.

"You also were never one for religion. Nor did you believe in God, another thing I never understood. What was there to believe? He simply is, I would say to you. He's up in heaven, watching over us, no questions asked. Well, you liked to ask questions, didn't you?" I smile fondly at this. "You wanted to know, where was God during the Holocaust. Where is God right now, proving to you that he exists? Who is God to allow all the suffering and cruelty of the world to continue?" I take a deep breath.

"Remember that day we were sitting in silence on my front porch? And you asked me why I believed in God. Remember that? And I couldn't give you an answer. I got so mad at you for saying I only believed in him because people told me to. I was so angry. You never brought it up again.

"But now.... But now I know what you might have been thinking. In not believing in him, I mean. Why would he take such a wonderful person like you? Why did you have to die, when there's murderers and thieves and rapists still living and breathing every day? Why? If he wanted you for himself, then he's selfish. All the good you would have done, all the saving that He won't do himself. You were such a good person; so beautiful, you know that? So many people love you, loved you with all their hearts because of how wonderful you were. I miss you."

I have to close my eyes to stop the tears from overflowing. It's so hard remembering you. So hard remembering that you're not here anymore. So hard.

It takes me a moment to realize that the rain has let up. The sun is no longer behind the clouds, now mollified to a light gray, as if my words have coaxed it out of hiding. A rainbow has formed across the horizon.

I close my eyes once more, almost seeing your back running towards the colorful light, gorgeous red hair flying out behind you. You are laughing and smiling and shouting out that it's the Irish in you. I smile too.

"The night before you left," I address you directly, looking past the rainbow where I know you're watching, "you wrote me one verse of a poem.

I smile sadly. "You always were unusually aware of yourself. You also know I'm hopeless at poetry. But for you, I'd do anything. To you: