In my weakness, Lord make me strong

"You doin' okay?" asked my friend Adam as we walked to the memorial/funeral fund-raiser event for Christofer last night.

I think so.... I mean, sort of. But I'm nervous-- I feel like I haven't dealt with it yet; I keep thinking it's a joke. And I'm scared it's going to hit me as soon as I'm standing in that room surrounded by all those other people.

"You're right. I think it'll hit you because it'll have hit all those other people; and we won't be able to deny it anymore."

Ugh. I'm not looking forward to this.

"Here, hold my hand."

And Adam reached out and took my hand and didn't let go until we'd walked through the front door and through the crowd of people that stood there unsure of whether to smile, hug, cry, or laugh (so we just did all of those things).

Conversations last night went kind of like this--
"Hey. How are you?"
"You know..."
"Yeah."
"How are you?"
"Yep."
"Yeah."
"Mmhmm."
And then the tears would start.

Eventually we worked our way upstairs. No small task. There were so many people. And it was so overwhelming. People gave tributes to him-- in front of the whole crowd, yes; but also in small groups just to each other. Framed pictures of him lined the tables around the restaurant. Christofer laughing. Christofer dancing. Christofer surrounded by friends. Just like Christofer always was.

It wasn't hard for him to be surrounded by friends all the time, because even if you started out strangers, he'd soon make sure you were friends. The first time I ever met him, he stuck out his hand and said "I'm Chris with an F; what's your name?" and then let out the laugh that made you smile despite yourself-- the laugh we all loved so much.

He trained me to be a barista a Chapter 2. He made sure that we tried all the drinks we made (it's the only Alice's location that has a full bar), and we joked and laughed our way through the shift until it was over-- what felt like twenty minutes later, though it'd really been several hours.

He trained me to be a server at Chapter 3. He danced, he sang, and he taught me how to make sure that everyone who walked through the door felt like they were visiting a friend's home-- because that's how he treated everyone, and that's the experience he always wanted Alice's customers to have.

He trained me to be part of the Alice's family. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's what he was doing by welcoming me into his life and wanting to be a part of mine. As I stood there last night, crammed so tightly with other people it was hard not to feel claustrophobic, all I could think was this is a guy who touched the lives of everyone he came into contact with. And that's what it means to be a part of a family. You don't just live next to them; you live life with them. You care deeply about them. You laugh with them; you cry with them. You dance with them; you work your butt off with them. You disagree about stuff, sure; but you also love them hard.

Tonight I watched youtube videos that Christofer and his roommates had made (they choreographed music videos for a couple songs), and I smiled and laughed-- until I cried. But not the laugh-til-you-cry kind of tears; it was the laugh-until-you-realize-he's-gone kind of tears. Not surprisingly, that kind's not as much fun.

A good friend wrote me an email letting me know of her love and prayers. But she also spoke into my Alice's family and the grief journey that we've all now embarked on together. She wrote,

If there is one thing that tragedy accomplishes it is this: through all this, an irrevocable, and incredible intimate bond has already been created between you all--- you have gone from co-workers to a suffering (and consoling!) family. You will never be the same. These will be friends for life... through this confusing and tragic and heart-wrenching circumstance, God is binding you all together in a way which would never have happened otherwise. So, love on each other. You need one another. And you, Anne, can be strong and weak all in one. Grieve and be confused, but also talk to God--- cry on His shoulder and ask him in the brokenness of the child that you are--- "God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others."

I'm not gonna lie. I don't really want to be on this journey right now. I'm sad and confused and overwhelmed. And I am not alone. That's good and bad. My family is hurting, and that makes me hurt worse. I think we were all hoping Christofer would show up last night when his friends were gathered and let us in on this big joke he'd played. But it didn't happen. Instead, I heard someone say that she was one of the people that had to identify his body. There's no prank to be exposed. This is really happening.

So I'd better start dealing with it.

"God calls us to trust before we understand," my dad said to me tonight. It's a good thing I don't have to do both right now.

God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others.