What do your friends think of you? Who and what are you to the people you see every week? Is who and what you are to your friends, who and what you want to be to your friends? Are you who you want to be, who you dream to be, who you aspire to be?

Cemetery: a life has come and gone. We read on the tombstone, four words, summing up who and what the person was: “Son, Friend, Husband, Father.” We look at the tombstone a few yards away, and we see the same thing. And the next is the same. And the next. And the next. But your friend you just buried wasn’t like those other people. This person was special. This person was different. This person changed your life forever.

This night, I’ve wondered, who would give my eulogy, and what they would say. Would it be my sister, my wife, my son, my daughter, a friend? Would it be short, would it be simple? If I were amongst the present living, would I fall on my knees and weep from the weight of understanding just how much I have touched a person’s life, or how little? Would I see you there?

Oh how I wonder what people truly think of me. Not just when I am around them, or within earshot or sight, but when you are alone in your room, and something causes you to think of me, does your face crinkle, or smile? Do you value me? If I were to die, would a piece of your life vanish? Would your heart stop in that moment that someone tells you I am dead? I hope so. I hope that when that day comes, you will hurt so badly, you will experience so much pain and loss, that you don’t want to do anything. That you just want to sit, and be with me, one more time. That you would give anything, for one more hour, one more day, one more hug.

This is not me trying to gain your approval, or a cry for attention or love, but rather I am crying, at the disgrace I am. I am crying, because I have not been who I should be to you. I haven’t defended you when you were being talked about, I’ve even organized an attack against you. I haven’t stopped and given you the attention and love you desire. I haven’t shut up and just listened, when all you needed, all you wanted, was someone to listen. I haven’t looked you in the eyes and told you “I love you.” I haven’t hugged you for longer than two seconds, told you I’m there for you, whenever you need it. I haven’t been a friend. I haven’t been what I should be. I haven’t been who I want to be. I haven’t been who I am. I haven’t been me.

I have disgraced myself: all that I stand for, all that I fight for, all that I desire to represent, has been contradicted from within the source, from within the passion. I have dishonored my family, my friends, my pastors, and worst of all, my God. I have not been who my God wants me to be, who He created me to be. The true me, the real me, the sincere me, the authentic me, is unconscious and partially buried, wounded and scared and angry. Like a girl who is raped and afraid to step outside, so I am afraid to step outside; the last time I was outside, people didn’t like me, people didn’t talk to me – I was hurt, I was abused, I was cheated. At least that’s how I felt, how I feel.

I know that one day, maybe soon, I will look again at the northeast corner of the ceiling of my room, and remember these thoughts, and think of how stupid I was, how stupid I am, to not realize, understand, and accept that, just like drowning lessons and strabismus were necessary to get me to this point in my life, so also the future me is dependent upon this pain, this fear, this loss, that I feel, that I will feel.

Life, has a life of it’s own; we’re just along for the ride. We can try to control it, but ultimately, life will live it’s own life. The goal isn’t controlling our life, the goal is making the life your own.

Who will give my eulogy? Who will write it? What will it say? I hope it’s you. I hope you miss me. I hope you can’t live without me. I hope that you move on. I hope you love. I hope you realize that the future you is dependent on this pain, this fear, this loss, that you feel, and that you will feel.

The northeast corner of your room’s ceiling will ever challenge you: “are you who you are supposed to be?” I hope you are, and I hope I may be, and will be soon.