Death.

I woke up this morning feeling kind of nostalgic and sad, and at first I wasn't sure why. Then I realized it was October 3rd, meaning it had been 3 months since Kelton died. It's been a wierd 3 months since he died, and I can't believe its only been 3 months because it feels like he has been gone for forever.

Before Kelton died, I always wondered why people got so upset about family and loved ones dying. I had never known anyone who died, and because I'm LDS, I always just thought, "It's no big deal, you will see them again, it's not like they are gone forever!".  Now I kick myself in the face for my insensitivity, because death is a complicated and frustrating part of life. Kelton's cousin told me he died shortly after it happened. He gave me him number via facebook, and I called and argued with him for five minutes about how him and Kelton needed to stop playing this joke on me, because it wasn't funny. By the time I started to believe him, I was crying so hard I could barely breathe. I couldn't understand how this had happened. Death had always been such a foreign idea to me. And now someone I was so close to had died. Unexpectedly.

One of the scariest parts for me was the randomness of it all. Things had been going really well for me at that point in my life- I had just moved to Provo, I lived near Kelton and Sunshine, I was going to go to BYU in the fall, I was getting all geared up for what I expected to be the time of my life. And then, out of nowhere, a stupid one-car accident, and the car flipped and fell in just the wrong way as to break Keltons neck and leave him dead.

Dead. But at that time, what did "dead" mean to me? I had never seen a dead person in real life. I had never been to a funeral. I had known a few old people who died, at church or a distant relative or something, but those deaths were expected. I had never been emotionally attached to those people or really associated with them for more than a minute or so.

That night, it was odd not having Kelton and I's nightly Skype session or phone call. But I was mostly in shock, and while I was upset, I was mostly scared, because I had no idea what the next few days would hold for me. His dad called me to make sure I had heard what happened and let me know he would update me on funeral stuff whenever he found out. I was terrified at the idea of the funeral. I didn't know what to expect, or who would be there, or how all that worked. Did I really want to go see his dead body?

In spite of all my fears, I made my way up to a city in Idaho where I had never been, and went to his funeral. I had been staying with Kelton's dad and family, and so I was early to the viewing on Friday night. I tried to not think about seeing his body, but I knew I needed to do it. As I walked tword the front of the empty room, I felt all the supressed emotions start to come to the surface, and when I got close enough to see his face, I broke down. That body, that the last time I had seen it was bright and alive, was now dull and lifeless. It didn't look like him, Kelton was so animated and expressive, it couldn't be him. It was shocking, realizing the difference that the spirit makes inside a body. The warm, happy, soft boy that I had joked, cuddled, laughed, and talked with, was laying there, missing the thing that made him Kelton.

So that's what physical death is. Where the body is no longer functioning. I know his spirit is out there, doing whatever it is that God is having his spirit do, and Kelton is just fine. But his physical death has stipulations for those of us still alive. Stipulations such as the fact that we can't communicate anymore, or touch, or do fun things together. And it sucks. People all say things like "Oh he is still looking out for you" or "He is there and you just can't see him", well guess what? It doesn't make it suck any less. It doesn't make it any less confusing for my heart or mind.

Kelton came and left so quickly, but he still left an impression. Sometimes I wonder why God would put someone in my life for such a short time, but then I remember all the lessons I've learned, both from Kelton's life and death. Like that an open-casket funeral is a ridiculous tradition, why the heck does anyone want to look at a dead body? And more seriously, to cherish the times you have with the people you love, because you never know when they'll be gone.

And, for those who don't know, Kelton was a pretty good guitar player. I don't know much about guitar, but I for sure can't play it. Also, the tshirt he is wearing in this video is the one he was wearing when we met. Ironic much?