The Service
Justice Ryan Jennings
1997-2019
We gather in the waiting family area, preparing for the somber walk to the chapel. There’s an air of formality and politeness that feels stifling. The pastor says something that sets me on edge. I want to lash out, ‘Who the fuck are you? You didn’t even know him,’ I don’t; instead, I bite my tongue and give him a look that hopefully conveys my inner thoughts. Walking away, I shake my head and think, did I try to pick a fight with a man of God? Jesus Christ almighty, get your shit together, Mic.
The crushing feeling in my chest is unbearable; I glance over at my sis, straightening her composed, stoic, and brave armor. She is draped in black, a far stretch from her ordinary bold and colorful vibe. But today, she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and grieves– he wasn’t supposed to die; he was only twenty-one.
A grey cloud hovers, misting sadness–not reflective of who he was, how he lived. I think he would have hated this–or is it me? Do I hate this? Yeah, I fucking hate this. I want to be at the lake doing somersaults, celebrating all he was.
My heart is in a million little pieces. Everything feels wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right, I can’t fix this. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away.
Eulogy
The church fills up quickly with a procession of family and friends sharing personal stories. The words come effortlessly; the delivery does not; tears interrupt the flow. The weight of the loss is heavy. The admiration is evident for a life gone too soon.
It’s not that I don’t believe in God—I do. But this feels like a show, and maybe it is. A show for who? The other mourners? Whatever the reason, it doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe that’s why I’m so on edge; I am angry- he wasn’t supposed to die, he was only twenty-one.
Why do we wait until we are brought to our knees to have the courage to express what resides in our hearts? I want to ask all that stand with shaky voices and trembling hands, speaking truth to the magnitude of the loss, ‘Hey, did you ever say this to him in person, or is this the first time he hears your praise?’ I don’t and turn inward.
Did he know how much I adored him? Did I say enough? Perhaps I should have said, done, been more. I am trapped in a moment of pain, every nerve on fire, with no release. He wasn’t supposed to die, he was only twenty-one.
Reception
My mom and I hide behind the gorgeous bouquets. We like our hiding spot; the roses offer comfort from the sadness and agonizing small talk. She takes my hand and looks me square in the eyes. I brace myself; I need to be strong. Surprisingly, she pivots, ‘Please don’t send me flowers when I am dead. If you want to send me flowers, send them while I am alive to enjoy.’
A Yoda moment delivered by my ever-so-wise Nana with such clarity. YAS! Don’t wait; send flowers to the people who matter with notes of appreciation and gratitude now.
EulogyNOW
Don’t wait for a funeral or illness to celebrate your loved ones. Send the flowers, and tell them how much you adore them – life is unpredictable, and sharing the good stuff is easy. Show your circle so much love that they never doubt their importance in your life.
Xo-Mic
I wrote this piece after the death of my nephew, Justice Ryan Jennings, who, at the tender age of 21, lost his battle with addiction. The piece is broken, which captures the waves of emotions of my broken heart. It is true what they say: one never gets over a loss; we learn to live with it. I am grateful to Justice, his passing taught me the beauty that lives in pain and more importantly to send the flowers now.
