Why

It’s bad enough when there are no right words.

It’s worse when a single word becomes overwhelming.

“Why?”

When tragedy comes via “natural” or accidental ways, “why” is always present.

But when tragedy is linked to a reason we know exists, believe the universe should not allow, and can never understand, the “why” is unbearable.

Why did tragedy have to affect you in a way that only created deeper tragedy?

Why didn’t the true depths of your pain get fully expressed or comprehended?

Especially considering the amount you used to talk.

You spoke in an incredible, compelling, unending stream of hopes, ideas, plans, beliefs and aspirations.

You’d talk continually during long distance swims without losing your breath.

You’d talk while sneaking not-so-quietly through the woods.

You’d talk of unswerving protectiveness and support of the members of your family.

You’d talk while scaling trees, boulders, furniture, and small structures…occasionally bursting into original songs when you reached the top.

You’d talk in the movies, unless Natalie Portman was on screen, then you’d just kind of exclaim randomly.

You’d talk while playing games, about your actions as Daredevil, your impeccable knack to Pull the Rug Out, or your unimaginable luck as the Drunken Goblin.

You’d talk while hauling in fish nearly your own weight, regardless of the fact that the noise should be scaring them off.

You’d talk during, and then recite afterwards, the silly lyrics and clever stand-up routines of possibly inappropriate comedians.

You’d talk while helping out relatives with various home improvement projects, although it was hard to hear above the overzealous use of a saws-all.

You’d talk about past adventures while sitting around the campfire, unless you were in the middle of dueling jokes about bodily functions.

You were unstoppable: 

While walking in the zoo, you threw up mid-sentence without breaking stride or losing your train of thought

There were only occasional pauses in the glimpses of the wonderful way your mind worked.

Each break was just long enough to throw a room brighenting, iceberg melting, lopsided, smart aleck grin in as punctuation.

Those grins let us know you were either:

A) Coming to an epic point.

Or more likely,

B) About to leap into action, pulling some stunt made of equal parts wild entertainment, borderline calamity, and inevitable awesomeness.

But with all those amazing memories, my brain can’t get away from “why.”

Why, with all the joy you brought us, couldn’t you find your own again?

And why don’t we get to listen to you anymore?

There will never be a satisfactory answer,

And there will never be someone who can talk his way into as many hearts as you did, Joey.





Up the Lake Index