What do you say when you are staring into the face of raw, jagged pain?  When a sister is crying out her agony, asking who's going to sleep in the bed that her brother always occupied?  When a mother is calling for a child that is no longer going to answer that call?  Locking eyes with a young man, and seeing the pain that he's trying to hide as he helps build his older brother's tomb? 

Toni (To) was only twenty-six.  A time in life when most young men are working on their houses, thinking about marriage, dreaming about the future. 

He was our patient, but more than that, he was our friend.  He had spent around a month here at the clinic with us, before we finally made the difficult decision that we really could do nothing more for him here than they could do for him at home, so we watched with teary eyes as they carried him away.  Teary eyes, because we all knew what the end result of his illness was likely to be.  To be honest, I never dreamed he could have made it as long as he did. 

He was so happy to be back at home.  We stayed in contact with him and his family, with us going to visit him, and his younger sister coming to us to pick up meds for him.  And oddly, in the last few months, he seemed to be an almost entirely different person than the one that we knew at clinic.  He would talk animately, telling jokes, and laughing with us and his mom. 

He told her yesterday, that he isn't really hers; that he was going to leave her.  Not to cry too much, and that God would send her another child in his place.  He's a believer - she's not. 

Her master is harsh and unforgiving - his gentle and loving. 

Toni knew where he was going when he died, and he knew he was dying.  But that death did not scare him.  He was leaving his pain and troubles behind and going to join his father in a land far more glorious than we can imagine. 

And I believe he is there now.  Worshipping his Creator.  Singing hallelujah.

So I cheer for him, that he got to go.  And weep for the ones he left behind.  My heart hurts for them.  It hurts that I'm not going to get to go visit him at his house again.  That I won't be able to tease him again, when he comments that whenever a girl is in front of him, he forgets what he wants to say.  I won't get to listen to his tales of crazy people and zombies.  To laugh at his jokes, and sing with him. 

When we were leaving the last time I was at his house, I told him that I would see him again - if not here, then up There. 

And I am looking forward to it, To.

I'll see you again someday. 

-Kindra