An Elegy to My Best Friend

Jared Weatherholtz

It’s been almost six months since you left. The vibrant sting of newness has stranded me with a numb gap and a bent towards filling that space with something—anything. You see, you were my best friend. And, at least I hope, you still are. But when you forsook what meant so much to me and what we both thought meant so much to you, things changed. With the air of assurance and promise left life and eternity and hope.

At first, a mix of misunderstood emotions clamored for my attention. Of the more prominent and implicit feelings were anger and sadness—anger that you had left me alone and sadness that you were gone. I was mad. No, I am mad. I’m mad that you forsook what you knew and trusted in. I’m mad that I am left with no source of comfort or support, except of course the One you kissed. But here in this shell I am left to cry and flare and wonder at your death. At the pronouncement, I almost didn’t take it seriously. It was announced with such life that it seemed impossible. I wanted to laugh it off and be the same. But the only life left in you was a memory and a relic.

Did it hurt? Did it hurt to know that I would know? I hope so. I hope you dreaded the day I would know. After all, that’s the true test of friendship isn’t it—for you to care if I knew? I think you hated the day I would find out. I think caring about that day almost changed the history of your life. I think it almost made you hang on. But I’ll never know. I can only hope that I meant enough to you to almost change your mind, because, obviously, I didn’t mean enough to you to truly change your mind.

But isn’t that how life goes? Only the individual in question can really have the final say in his life—and God. As for God, the questions that used to be offered to him have now turned to pleading. On a regular basis, and I desire that it might be more frequent, I pray for you. I pray that God might bring you back to life. I want him to give you the life we thought you had before. Some may be skeptics. But isn’t that what all of the living have to be thankful for, being brought to life from the dead? I pray that God would bring you back to life. O God, bring Brandon back to life! I can’t stand the phone calls knowing that you’re gone.