Mr. Flex

Mr. Flex.

My brother started that nickname about 5 years ago.  If I remember all this right, Carly was around 14 and was visiting my parents and my brother's family for an away from home adventure.  She had gone down to the creek behind my parent's home with Uncle Matthew when Brian, age 15, ventured upon them.  He stood there talking for quite some time with his arms folded, his hands strategically balled and placed behind his biceps to push them out to make himself more manly, more studly-       to impress Carly.

A Carly very unaware of her curves, her femininity, her anything that would make a boy stand there talking to a guy in his ward he usually never talked to, trying to flex his muscles for an unnatural period of time...

After Mr. Flex had exhausted his avenues for conversation with Matthew, he sauntered off.  Matthew turned to Carly and asked if she'd noticed him flexing because it was all for her!   She was mortified and sure he was mistaken.  She hadn't noticed a thing  and was only wishing he'd leave so she could have her uncle's attention back...

Over the years my dad and my brother and just about everyone else in the family have enjoyed teasing Carly about Mr. Flex.  Uncle Matthew would mention... "Mr. Flex was in my Sunday School class today.  He was wondering if my niece would be visiting anytime soon.."  My dad would cut out articles from the paper and send them to Carly as Mr. Flex became quite the football star leading his team to a very victorious season.

Carly was planning to go to SUU and lots of teasing began when we found out Mr. Flex got a full ride football scholarship... "Maybe you'll bump into each other on campus and you can ask him to flex for you" heh heh heh...   She was used to it by this time and would roll her eyes and shake her head and laugh it off.

Mr. Flex decided to defer his scholarship to serve a mission.  He started doing his paperwork and went to the doctor to find out why he couldn't shake this bad cold he'd had for a few weeks.  That bad cold turned out to be cancer.  Instead of serving a mission, he has been fighting cancer for the last 2 years- fighting hard.  He and his mom have been in so many hospitals, trying so many different treatments.

When I heard Tuesday morning that he had died, I was surprised by the overwhelming grief I felt for this boy whom I have never met.  I cried and my heart ached and I just feel so sad and empty.  I think I kept half expecting a miracle turnaround.  He was a prime candidate: faithful family, preparing to serve a mission, his ward praying for him, strangers (like me) praying for him.  In every story I've ever heard about him, he is strong and vibrant and full of life.  It just feels so wrong and pointless.  5 years ago he was standing on the creek bank, flexing, flirting, unaware.  Tonight he is lying in a morgue....  3 years ago:  On top of the world- leading his team to victory every game.  Tonight- gone.

The last 2 years while my child started college, struggled through her new beginning, fell in love, got married and decided to become a mother,  somebody else's child fought for his life with chemotherapy and blood transfusions and pain and nausea and misery and faded away.

My faith tells me that his spirit is somewhere beautiful and maybe this cancer fight was more important a test than a life full of choices, maybe it refined him and made of him a stripling warrior in the most important ways.  However my heart hasn't caught up with my faith yet and all I can do is cry for the boy who's gone and the mother who is not.

A woman I have never met lost her baby this week, her youngest of seven I think.  My heart hurts for her and so I held mine a little tighter tonight than usual when I said good night.  He looked confused as he kissed my cheek and wiped away the tears that were falling.  He didn't ask why.. He just smiled sweetly at me and wiped the tears and said "i love you too" as if he just understood it was my love for him dripping down my cheeks.

I'm glad I didn't yell at him the other day when he broke the 4 brand new glass votive holders as he dropped the bag on the way out of the store.  Votive holders just don't matter very much.  I want to remember that.

There are so many sad stories we hear on the news and from friends.  If we truly felt them all- we'd be a mess, nonfunctioning puddles of sadness all the time.  But sometimes, a story connects, just hits our heart just so and we feel it all.  I think that's why I can't let go of my sadness.  He's the same age as Carly, in the same stage of life- Beginning adulthood, stepping off into his own adventure and he was cut down before he could begin and my heart cries out "what if this was your child??  It could be your child..."

Maybe my sadness is really fear.