Dedicated to Anyone Who Has Ever Lost Someone by K. Lee

I had never been in Kilworth before. Let's just keep it simple and say that I didn't go to church, so I've never needed to attend a service here; this was my first. I slipped back on the fanciest pair of sandals I had, and smoothed down my skirt, ruffled from the wind I'd created on my sprint here. I was late and I smelled of half a shower, tiny bulbs of sweat gathered on my forehead.

            Both sides of the pews were packed. I couldn't recognize anyone, save for the full-figured girl alone onstage. I took a seat on the end of the only half-empty pew and glanced at all the solemn expressions around me. Patty's fingers curled around the microphone, she pressed her mouth closely. She broke sentences in places that belonged to no punctuations, and when she did, she gasped for air. "From the Damaso Family, we want to thank--- you all for--- being a part of Wyland's--- life." She didn't look out to the pews, and no one clapped. An eerie silence glazed over the chapel. My eyes followed as she escaped to the back of the room, and I couldn't help but to chase after her.

            Her body crumbled over, for her size she looked weak. Her open palms spread across her leaking eyes. "Patty... Come here." I opened my arms and held her as tightly as I could. I couldn't cry. All I could think about was how I had once read that a hug lasting twenty seconds or longer released oxytocin, a hormone that reduces stress and facilitates bonding, bringing those who hugged closer together. I wished that I had hugged Keola for longer when he was here.

            "I'm going to go back inside," sniffled Patty. "They're going to let people talk about him in front of a video camera so they can send the tape to his family."

            "Oh yeah, of course."

            "Are you--"

            "Yeah, I'll be in there." I whispered as she found the way back to her seat in the front pew.

            I stood in the chapel lobby, awkwardly shifting my weight back and forth to each side. Another lone microphone stood dead center in the last rays of the afternoon's sunlight. Those who shared first seemed the most uncomfortable, equally torn between being genuinely emotional but at the same time remembering the tough persona they wanted to uphold by not crying. They remembered that life would go on after the memorial would end, and people would carry their judgments out of that chapel. "Wyland Keola Damaso, I remember that when I learned his full name, blah blah... And it was so funny because blaah. Blahaha!" The audience laughed along, still uncomfortable. Some shared anecdotes, others shared pieces of advice our friend once gave during their times of need. There were funny stories, people giggled more, remembering that this service was in honor of his life and not his death. I don't think I even smiled. I don't think I knew how to feel. But I do remember feeling offended that people would bring up such casually unimportant things about this person that was so close to me, this person that was much more than a collection of funny times. A picture of Keola smiled down at us from a reeling slide show above the organ. The skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiled. I thought about what he would say if he were here. They were only brushing the surface of who he was. They didn't even know him. 'We used to talk about our kids having play dates together. You ditched me, Keola.' That's what I was fucking thinking about during his memorial service. How selfish can a person be? There was a lull in audience participation. I wanted to go up there, but I didn't. I wasn't emotionally trashed enough to do so. None of my tears had fallen; and I felt none coming. I needed something in me to break, something to physically eject me from my spot to accompany the lonely microphone in front of that camera. I wanted to get drunk off liquid courage and wobble up to the front. That way, I'd be there but I wouldn't care about how my peers would judge me for the words that came out, and later I probably wouldn't remember how I got to the front anyway. But I had nothing to make me brave, so I stayed put. I am such a coward. Even thinking about going to the front made me nervous. My heart was pounding, I was sure everyone else could hear it. I looked around; all eyes were to the front.

            Someone emerged from the left side of the pew and stepped into the fading sunlight. Liz! I knew her. My God, was she going to go up there? She was from Hawai`i along with Patty, Keola and I. Liz's hair was thick and black as night, but its silky complexion caused it to shimmer in the light. A sleeveless dress the color of sea foam fell delicately on her petite figure, the bottom of it swept across her knees. She glowed a sad radiance. "Hi. I didn't know Keola very well... at all. All I know is that we were both born in the same place. I'm not even actually Hawaiian, but I know he was. I just want to sing something we sing back home, it's a sort of prayer. You don't have to understand it, and I definitely don't have the best voice, but this is for Keola and his family.

            "Ho`onani i ka makua mau, ke keiki me ka uhane no, ke akua mau, ho`omaika`i pu, ko ke`ia ao, ko kela ao, amene."

            'Praise to the Eternal Father, the Son with the Spirit indeed. God Eternal, bless together of this day, that day, and everyday. Amen.' As I listened, I remembered that the tune was actually just the Hawaiian Doxology. I mentally criticized the irrelevancy of her choice, sassing about the fact that there were at least four other more appropriate songs she could've sang. Why that one, I thought, that one doesn't even put him to rest. It holds no meaning. I'll go up next and show them what Keola meant to me; I'll top their stories and songs.

            After Liz returned to her seat, sniffly as ever, I marched up to the microphone and delivered what came from my heart. All of a sudden drunk off confidence, I began, "Keola was my first friend here before we even began school. I met him on Facebook, and I knew that we were going to be friends. He made me feel good when he would tell me that I used big words, and that he could tell I was smart because no one uses big words these days. He was never on time, but somehow always on schedule. His backpack was for someone the size of a thirteen year-old boy, which he was not... The audience chuckled. He never went to his two o'clock physics class because he'd already taught himself the material by reading one of his older brother's textbooks a summer before the last. He always wore the same blue zip-up hooded jacket. In eighth grade he tried to kill himself, but he failed miserably and ended up preventing one of his best friend's attempts at suicides the very next day. He was hopelessly in love with his girlfriend. He was going to propose to her this summer, I wondered if he did. He only liked his salads with romaine lettuce, grape tomatoes and cottage cheese. And one last thing; he loved life. Because of Keola, I now know that only the good die young. He had this contagious passion for life, and he made everyone around him love it, too. And if he were here, he would've wanted to know that he affected every person he made contact with. By looking around this chapel, I think he did. That's something I picked up from being here with him, I learned passion for life, it's something I'll take with me forever. Second last thing? In Hawaiian, 'Keola' means life. It was... is the best name. I think his parents knew when he was born, 'Yep, he's a special one.'" I looked out to the faces in the audience, and I suddenly knew each and every one. The church filled with warmth as the window shades lifted, letting the creamy sunlight flood in. I kissed my pointer finger and raised it to Keola's new home in the sky and glided back to my seat.

            "We miss you, Keola." In and out of sobbing, Liz managed to pull it together as she finished the doxology all by herself. The last echo of "amene" wisped through the chapel doors and disintegrated into Tacoma's cooling fall air. And then I was still standing awkwardly in the Kilworth lobby, next to paper programs with Keola's name printed across the top of each. I hadn't gone up, I hadn't said those things, and the moment was to pass without me.

            I watched Liz: She stood proudly, and I got goose bumps not from the song, but from her courage to do what she did. I had never seen anyone cry so much in front of a group that large, she had just let it pour. And she said she didn't even know him. Just like that, someone so small did something so big; she filled up the chapel with her whole-hearted intent to light up the rest of our world with Keola's shine. When she finished, she walked swiftly down the aisle and sat outside on the chapel steps. She touched my hand as she passed me, so I followed her out.

            I sat down next to her, "You are so brave and so amazing."

            She looked up at me, tears gushing from her eyes, "It's not fair..."

            Crying is good. It feels good. What's worse than crying is what comes when you can't cry, which is what happens to me. I get a shiver in my body, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. As the tears roll down my cheeks, my eyes burn. I don't know if that's natural, but I've always thought of it as tears of pain. The burden of my friend's death had been weighing on me internally and I didn't know what to do about it. I had heard the news so distantly, and I only had a couple of friends that knew him well enough to give me any updates on his status during his time in the hospital. It was completely surreal, like I had to remember that he had passed. I just felt like he was away, I still do, in fact. But it's a long trip, and I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

            I just sat there, Liz's warm, moist face buried in my arms. For the first time since I had heard the news, I felt alone. I wonder if I looked alone. To be sitting on a stair with someone who needs you is supposed to be comforting for at least one of you, but she was not feeling the same pain that I was. I didn't even know if what I felt could be classified as pain. Here I was, in the presence of someone so distant yet so brave, but none of her courageous spirit was passing through me. We were so close in proximity, but so far away in spirit. I wondered if Keola felt close to the oncoming driver on the highway that day. I had so many questions, but there was one thing I knew.

            I wish that I had the guts to do anything like what Liz did. I've regretted that since the service. The truth of the matter is that I was afraid of judgments being passed on me, and I was insecure of others doing so because I had been criticizing everyone else. But it doesn't matter what they said, because at the end of the day, they were bigger and braver than I was. I once heard a quote that said 'The fear of being hurt will hurt you more than facing that fear and finding freedom.' I wanted so badly to be freed of this burden; I had no idea why I was carrying it.

            It's strange to see a friend go. Especially when you don't know how to come to terms with it, like how I don't. But I miss him, though not every day. Something will remind me of him, and his smile will flash in my head. I'll never forget those dimples he had. Then I'll replay a memory of him saying nothing important, but for some reason I remember it always.

            That's when I realized that life isn't about filling your time here with 'important' things. What makes our lives so important are all the little unimportant things that comprise it, like cottage cheese salads and favorite zip-ups, because those million things will bring meaning to who we were when they're over. Keola, if I'd told you that you had one last summer, would you have believed me? That was the only line in my journal entry on August 16, 2012. That's the catch in life: You don't get to say when you're done, and you can't tell anyone before you leave, but you just hope that what you've done here is enough to create a fair goodbye without actually getting one. So for anyone who's ever lost someone, I hope you can find your own goodbye.

[Author's Note: This episode is in remembrance of Wyland Keola Damaso, who once told me that everyone is important. In honor of you, I write my take on your memorial service held by the University Puget Sound in the fall of August 2012.]