I have had the privilege of spending some time with Danielle, the young lady I wrote about last Friday. We sat in BJ's old room, her new room laughing and crying together over our memories with him. Those we remember, and those we try hard to, but cannot.

Today she brought me a writing she did for one of her classes last December. I know you will understand and sympathize with her pain as you read from her heart. She has graciously allowed me to share it with you.

"Throughout the past two months, I feel like I have been trapped in the deep, fiery pits of hell. Telephone calls piercing the night at three in the morning, emotional highs soaring up, then plummeting down, and the promise that hope, prayer and simple faith will heal his body and restore all sense of life. My best friend, BJ Higgins died last night.

As my father drove our family to the church the day of visiting hours, my emotions raced so fast through my head, they made the passing buildings look like snails. I had never experienced these emotions of deep pain that ripped my heart apart, and the emptiness that engulfed my soul, telling me I am all alone in this pitiful, immoral, disgusting world. Why? Why BJ? Why now? My mind screamed, "Why did he have to die?" I am so confused on what is happening and I don't understand why the world is still going about its daily routine. Do they not understand what has just happened?

As I walk into the sanctuary, in my neatly pressed jeans, with a bright pink tee-shirt with BJ's name on it, I notice all the pictures of his life hung on the walls and lying around on tables. Every moment seemed to be captured. My heart softens and melts a little as I remember all of the happy memories we had shared. I only wish I had more memories of him, more time, to have spent with him. The reality had not hit yet. To me he was still alive and well.

Hatred instantly bursts from my soul as I look up and see the Higgins family, standing in the front of the room, shaking hands and receiving hugs, trying to maintain a joyous composure. There is a slight sense of guilt, for the hatred is not toward the family, but toward God. The air becomes heavily weighted with every step I take forward. My breath is caught in my chest and I can't breathe, my pounding heart stops beating.

I can't speak. My eyes search frantically over Mr. Higgins' face trying to find any words to say, or maybe I'm just trying to find recognition of the feeling overflowing my soul. He reaches out, tenderly touches my hands, and pulls me close for a hug into which I crumble. My legs buckle and I can barely stand up straight, my body heaving as I try to breathe through my uncontrollable sobbing. Tears streaming down my face, I'm praying to God that he will never let me go. Slowly Mr. Higgins breaks the embrace and I step back and look up into his eyes. Staring directly back into mine, he whispers, "He was in love with you, he loved you with all of his heart." The millions of pieces that my broken heart was torn into, shredded into even smaller pieces.

My mother catches me as I collapse to the floor, in another rage of sobbing and crying. My shoulders ache from shaking and my shirt is soaked from the tears and sweat flooding down, swallowing up every little pink cotton fiber. A few thoughts are running slow enough through my mind that they register and I can understand. I wish I could bash my head against a pew, pierce a knife through my heart, or hang myself from the ceiling; anything that could end this life of misery.

My father walks over, gently lifts me up, and begins carrying me to the door. "I think she's been through enough," he says to my mother softly. I glance up one last time to look around at the pictures and my eyes fall onto a particular one. BJ and I are standing together, laughing so hard we were almost in tears, on our skis at Snow Blast eight months earlier. A small smile creeps onto my face as I remember the fun we had that weekend skiing and I'm amazed at how well the picture captured the love and life brilliantly glowing on our faces.

It has been two months since that joyous day of celebrating a new life with Christ, but the haunting emptiness of my missing friend still remains. Life is so unimaginably short, it needs to be lived to the fullest each and every day. A precious gift that I took for granted will never be taken advantage of again. I will never forget the impact of BJ's life.

Her writing warms my own heart. I remember vividly how he cared. Danielle also handed me another gift. A bookmark that had a poem about the importance of "hugs."

I agree. I need them. So does she. Danielle, you have blessed me, and I will miss you.

Our belongings are being loaded onto the truck, and shortly I will head to Tulsa. My brother Brad is coming along and flying home later. Deanna and the girls I leave behind for a time. I will see you soon! I will see all of you soon!

Deep breath, gulp, it's time to go. Tulsa, Awe Star, I am on my way. Thank you Lord God, for Your amazing provision. You are my King!

dad