Nineteenth Birthday

Like an artist or a musician, writers cannot control when their creative juices flow. It could be in the middle of the night, early in the morning or in the middle of a class.

Usually, for me, I find myself waking up during a calming dream, or have to stop my homework to try to relive the memories, faces and smells of Jake through my writing. The descriptions of the words, how I place them in a sentence and the minute details are vital for me to remember. And I have to.

Today marks my nineteenth birthday. Woop-de-do. As the years keep rolling on by, the birthdays matter less and less to me. Not because it's not fun knowing I'm getting older, and not because I'm scared either. It's because after Jake died, I put my life into perspective. Does it really matter if I count every single birthday? I need to count the minutes, hours and seconds I have here, because Jake only had fifteen birthdays. And I've had nineteen.

It very much saddens me how my best friend cannot be here to celebrate with me. I often wish he could come back just for a second, just so I can see his face, hear his laugh, to know that I am not completely crazy. That I am not merely making fantasies up in my head. That this actually happened. This was real.

I picked up a book from the library a couple of days ago, titled A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. A guy who used to run a retreat program at my grade school contacted me shortly after Jake passed and recommended that I check it out.

Then, I was at a point where I didn't want to talk to anyone, was a recluse in my room and shut everyone out. I was not at the point to read a book, much less breath. Now I think I have come to better terms with the passing of my best friend, and am able to go to school, think and breathe.

There isn't one particular reason I went to the library to search for the book, I just think something inside egged me on to listen what this retreat-guy had to say.

The book is about C.S. Lewis, writer and poet, who of which wrote the Narnia series. His wife (called in the book, H.) died of cancer unexpectedly, leaving his two sons and him alone. The book is C.S. Lewis's own diary, sharing his questions, frustration and cry for help when no one could save him.

While I was reading, I began to think this is so much like my own writing. Blunt, honest, straight-to-the-point and heartfelt. He isn't afraid to be mad at God; he isn't there to please others by saying "everything happens for a reason," because that's not what he believes. He's confused, devastated and lonely and has no problem showing it.

Argument after argument, point after point, there is not one thing I haven't felt that C.S. Lewis was feeling. Last night, while reading in my room, I almost felt a little embarrassed as if he was reading my own journal aloud.

There are a couple of particular points that hit close to home. It'd like to share a quote per post and really delve into what C.S. Lewis's words mean to me in the context of my own grief with Jake. I am hoping this exercise will allow me to explore why Lewis and I have so much in common, as well as help me to learn some new things about me and Jake's relationship.