I took a drive to the cemetery in your honor. I went the back way. Like you probably would have done. Up Blanco Road to 46 and then crossing over. How many times you took me up Blanco Road. It was bittersweet doing it without you.
I hear you telling me not to cry for you. I know if you could talk to me right now, you’d tell me to focus on God. On telling people the best news. I’m trying.
I know you’d tell me to get my big girl pants on. I cry for us being without you for a time. But I know you wouldn’t want me to park there. Funny that I found that screenshot of a messages between us where the last thing you said in that particular conversation was, “Quit crying and drive.” I feel like that’s your message to me now.
So I took that last drive in your honor. To the cemetery. It was such a beautiful day. Perfect for a drive. Cool air and crystal clean blue skies after a cold rain. You would have loved it.
But on the way there, I was crying a lot. I always thought we would eventually be friends again here. I never expected it to end here like this. I so miss all the good times. I thought we had time. That things would get fixed on this side.
I cried out in frustration and asked God why He didn’t let me know when you passed. In my heart. (Funny thing is I would always check KSAT for your passing to be reported as a car accident – all these years.) “Because he isn’t dead, Sarah. Jonathan isn’t gone. He is very much alive; his spirit is very much alive. He’s just somewhere else. You’ll see him again eventually.”
I can still think of you being alive because you are. Just somewhere else. It feels like it will be a long time now. But I think when we see you again on the other side, it will then feel like a blink of an eye. When we catch up to where our spirits and hearts reside.
I couldn’t find your grave. I was really sad about that. Drove around and got out multiple times. Then parked and walked around what felt like the whole thing. Nothing. Was talking to J the whole time. She called as I arrived at the cemetery. She said she was in shock also.
Finally I was going to give up. It was getting dark. There were so many graves. I didn’t know how I was going to find your’s. I asked J to pray for God to help me find it. I went and sat in the car. We kept talking. There was almost no daylight left. Almost no hope. I was thinking multiple times that I should just put the car in gear and drive away.
But then your T called. Hadn’t heard his voice in longer than your’s. Was good but of course I never wanted it under these circumstances. For him as much as anyone. But thankfully he was able to quickly and clearly lead me to where they put your body. We talked more. Good conversation as always. He told me what happened. The amazing story about who stopped and was with you. That brought me and hopefully T and others so much comfort. I wish he didn’t have to miss you. I told him ya’ll were truly brothers.
I sent J and T the picture below. (Those two are the main ones I would have wanted to talk about you with – so thankful for that.) Kinda poetically beautiful that I found your spot just as the last bit of the sunset was fading. I’m reminded now that I learned in the last few years, from Steve McVey, that the Jewish people considered sundown the start of a new day. Versus sunrise. So yeah, as much as you going elsewhere looks like an end, maybe it is a new beginning for us that miss you.
I believe in my mind, Lord; but help my heart’s unbelief. My fears.
The only thing that kills me are the what ifs. I tried so hard, but there were a few things I didn’t work hard enough on for us. It kills me to think if I had done that work then maybe we’d have had more time together.
I hope I’m wrong. I hope things turned out like they needed to and were supposed to. But I have doubts. That I could have done more.
The only thing that helps me move forward is knowing you wouldn’t want me to park there either.
Funny that the next day I heard this song for the first time.
The only thing I don’t regret is that it truly is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.