I was raised Catholic: baptized, first communion, CCD classes (which mainly consisted of Mark and I eating as many donuts as possible), confirmation, church. We did it all. My parents chose to raise us this way. And years later, although I disagree with a lot of Catholicism (number one being the right to love any person you choose), I continued to attend Catholic masses. Often by myself, and throughout college where there was one Catholic Church for every twenty Baptist in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I think at that age (I'm talking 18-23) your mind is fragile, still a bit naive, and you route for something that brings comfort. The Catholic experience brought that comfort dating back to childhood. It almost felt like I was linked spiritually to the one woman I admired so much who truly believed in everything the Bible and the Catholic religion preached. That woman, was of course, mighty Nana.
Today, I don't claim to be of any denomination.
My faith has been a bit shaken, to say the least. Believe it or not, it didn't begin the day they said "you have cancer." If anything, this is helping me discover a new-found spirituality and belief in something much more powerful than us. I am learning. But the day I lost my faith was the day I lost Adam.
To explain Adam, I would need pages upon pages of words and yet the complexity of my relationship with him would still not make sense to the outside world. It often doesn't make sense to me. So I will share a little, in hopes this lesson will be clear.
I was sixteen and fell in love with a beautiful olive-skinned, deep, dark-eyed boy. Many girls fell in love with him. His humor, his demeanor, his athleticism- there was nothing not to admire as a young, innocent girl. We called it "puppy love." But there was always something more. Something more to that beautiful, smart-assed kid that I couldn't shake.
Honestly, it just never worked out: timing, our age difference, family, friends...and yet somehow he would never leave my life. He'd pop up in places I least expected like Charleston, South Carolina, phone calls during a three month span of not hearing a word from him and yet I'd wake up at two AM to answer his call. Wouldn't you know I was dreaming of him at that moment? Odd stuff. Another one of life's mysteries. Around eight years later, I firmly chose to move on because my connection with him was so complex, giving up hope that "it," "we" could possibly work. When you're hurt so many times your mind forces you to let go. And I did that to the best of my ability.
In the midst of my decision, Adam had made a much greater one. He had enrolled in the Army about a year before. He'd been in and out of boot camp, training, and was already being deployed to Afghanistan. You worry, naturally, but never think anything bad can happen to someone you know. So I, being the hard-headed, strong-willed person I am, stuck by my decision to not let him "back in." To my heart, maybe. But my life. I needed to move on.
It was the week of May 24, 2011 when I had missed calls from across the world in a place we hear so much about, yet choose to know so little. A place filled with pain and complete destruction. Calls from Afghanistan. Unanswered messages on Facebook.
I received the call from one of my best friends while I was in Indiana, celebrating, of all holidays, Memorial Day weekend, with my family. It was less than 24 hours from Adam's last message, pleading for me to answer the phone. Adam died.
I have never in my 26 years felt so empty. So angry. Still, breathless, yet uncontrollably shaking. It couldn't be true.
Lives are lost every day in ways we cannot comprehend. But this, this marks the hardest lesson yet. We said goodbye to Adam on one of the sunniest days in June, a swarm of grieving bodies gathered in silence and tears. I've never seen anything like it. I wonder if he knew then, the amount of lives that boy touched. And to see his journey here end as a true hero, giving up his life for every single one of us, is just the way Adam would want to be remembered. "Always the brightest star. "
Dear friends, please let every single person in your life that has made a difference, held your hand, let you cry, spill your fears, ones that you have loved so deeply, ones who have brought you true happiness, no matter how great or small, please, please, let them know what they mean to you. As cliche as it may sound, put your damn pride aside in times of adversity. In the end, the pain is far worse than a little bit of petty pride. My current battle has allowed me to transform this deep regret into life's greatest lesson.
With every visit to where he is laid to rest, I'd ask him to show me that he is in a better place. To please restore my faith in a higher power that has intentions with us. Please show me somehow, that you are ok.
He has.
Call it a coincidence, but my first day of any treatment was the two year anniversary of his passing. He's given me countless signs along the way that he is with me. I am learning to trust and believe again. Thanks, Ad.
Through him, I am lucky enough to have been blessed with two beautiful women that I can call my warriors; Adam's mom and cousin. Adam's mom gives a whole new meaning to the word "strength." We share the greatest gift: one amazing Angel.
Photo Caption: This is Adam in Afghanistan. His mom gave him that Snuggie for comfort when he was away. She has so kindly let me borrow it. Something in which I am so grateful. It has been my blanket of comfort and hope, wrapped real tight through each and every chemo treatment.
Happy birthday, SPC Adam Scott Hamilton. May you rest peacefully in Paradise.
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