He lived. He loved. He was my big brother.

My friend died last week. Really, he was more than a friend; he was my big brother. When I first found out, it was by email and I read it and said it out loud a couple of times, but a few hours later when it sunk in, I just hurt all over. I started thinking about my friend and was trying to think how we first became friends.

We worked together and I thought he was pretty interesting and noticed he treated people differently. With respect. You see, we worked with people who were in a low place in their life. Some were homeless, ex-offenders, unemployed, underemployed, poor, hurting, lonely, and so on. But when they sat across the table from Roland, they were the most important person in his life. That's how he treated everyone, because honestly, we have all been hurting, lonely and poor. He didn't see the difference.

He was a big brother to me (and so many). We did our favorite things together. If I could pick an ideal outing or activity, we enjoyed those same things. Softball games, football games, live shows, dinner out, playing with my dogs, listening to Christmas music all year around, working at a job we were very passionate about.



His favorite show was the Wizard of Oz, which we got to see live together. His brother wrote a letter sharing how he related to each character, but at the end of the day, he was most like Dorothy. He was smart, loving and brave, but also kind, generous and a great friend. He truly cared about the people in his life and wanted the best for them. Roland's favorite line was: "A heart is not judged by how much you love, but how much you are loved by others."

I can't even type that without tearing up.

I'm listening to a song as I write that says: "I was here. I lived. I loved. I was here. I did. I've done. Everything that I wanted and it was more than I ever thought it would be. I will leave my mark, so everyone will know I was here."






Roland would've never sang these words. He didn't want everyone to know him or know what an amazing person he was. He didn't do what he did to show off what a loving guy he was. He just loved well.

But he left his mark and everyone knows he was here. I know he was here and it hurts right now that he's not anymore.



I went to the Civic center with a friend on Tuesday night. As we were pulling in I was remembering all the shows Roland had taken me to (this was before I found out he had passed away). As we were leaving, I was thinking I need to call him. I haven't talked to him in a while and I want to know what he's doing now, because I figured it would be something cool. The following day I get an email from my friend, the subject: Roland Edmonds. I can see the top line of the message: "Just found out that Roland passed aw...". I glanced at it as I was finishing up lunch with someone and I literally told my mind, "Stay in this meeting. Stay present. You can cry later." It was all I could do at the time.

I text my sister: "Can you talk?" She called back and my voice broke as I was telling her he had passed, but we went on and talked about something else. It hadn't sunk in. It wasn't real yet. I wanted confirmation. Maybe my friend got it wrong. He had been in and out of the hospital for a long time, maybe he was mistaken. He had been sick before and he recovered, my mind kept telling me that he would recover from this too. (Recover from what?! Death?! How could he recover from death?! my heart screamed. Stay present, my head screamed louder. Stay present.) I had taken him to the hospital before. I had visited him there when they kept him for a bit. He's ok. He will be ok.

I got home and pulled up facebook. I pulled up his facebook page. There was a message posted by his sister stating the memorial service and funeral times. It. was. real. My. friend. died. My. friend. was. dead. dead. dead. dead. It repeated in my mind over and over. Gone. Gone for this lifetime. I can't call him, he's gone. Why did I not call him last week? Why did I not call?

When my dog was hit by a car just before I moved to Rwanda he was my first call. He loved Buddy almost as much as I did. He showed up and I just fell into his chest and sobbed. He and the neighbor buried Buddy in my backyard. He thought to take his collar off in case I wanted it later. He gave it to my sister, knowing I wouldn't want to see it right now. He was there. He lived. He loved.

Now he's gone. He can't live or love anymore. Gone.

I couldn't pull my body off the couch that night and just slept there. I woke up the next day, but I didn't really wake up. My mind hoped it was a dream, a horrible nightmare and that I could call him and he would answer and we could go to a show before I left for Rwanda and he would take me to dinner either to eat mexican food or Joe's Crab Shack. Pancho's was his favorite mexican food--it's so gross. How could he like Pancho's? No more Pancho's.

I finally got up and went to the memorial service. My sister and I rode most the way in silence. He was gone and I didn't have anything to say. I was a better person with him in my life and now he was gone. Dead.

"I want to say that I lived each day, until I died. And know that I meant something in somebody's life. The hearts I have touched will be the proof that I lived. That I made a difference. And this world will see, I was here. I lived. I loved."

Memorial service, his friends and family, his brother in law and sister. I had a funny connection with his brother in law. I had umpired his son's baseball game and he would come out and heckle. I ate indian tacos at their house. I knew him, but it's been a few years: "Do you remember me?" He said, "Of course" as he wrapped his big arms around me and I sobbed. "I'm sorry for your loss," he whispered. How could he be saying he's sorry for my loss. Yes, I had lost something, but we all did. He was gone. Gone.

He had gone to see him on Sunday, he was okay. He went to sleep and then he went to Heaven. My throat closed. I was standing outside the room where Roland's body was. There was a line, why couldn't I go in, but I didn't want to go in, because if I did. It would be real. Could I run? I would see him. Laying there. Hands folded, probably wearing a sweater vest. (He also loved sweater vests because he was cold most the time). I followed behind my friend who sent the email down the isle with my sister holding onto my arm. He was there. At the front. Sleeping, right? But why would he sleep here? He was sleeping, right?! He was here, he wasn't gone, he will recover, someone wake him up. My mind screamed but no one was hearing it. I leaned over on the first pew, I couldn't see him. I didn't want to see him. It can't be real. But it was. He was wearing a sweater vest and an OU Sooner tie (he loved his Sooners). It was him. He was gone.

I wanted to scream, but I could only cry. People wanted to put their hands on me and I just wanted my friend. I wanted to tell him that someone had died and we should go get some chips and salsa somewhere and he would've sat there until I was ready to talk and then he would've listened and then when it was time, we would've laughed again. I wanted to call him, but I couldn't and that made me angry.

I left him. I left his friendship to move to Rwanda. I've left so many people behind in my obedience. Is it obedience? Why did I leave? Why did I not stay? Why was I not there for him the way he had been there for me so many times?

"I want to leave my footprint on the sands of time. Know there was something that, meant something that I left behind. When I leave this world. I'll leave no regrets. Leave something to remember so they won't forget. I was here. I lived. I loved."

He left the world and I don't think he left any regrets. He didn't live like it anyway.

He drove a red Kia Soul. They will forever be Roland's car in my mind. Christmas music will ever be his anthem. He was here. He lived. He loved.

I have a knot in my stomach, like someone has punched me. My breath is short and the tears are still flowing. It still hurts. He's not here. But for a brief moment in my small life, he was here. He showed me how to love and to live, to not take things for granted. To do what you enjoy and do it with people you enjoy being around. Try new things, but if you like something a lot, it's ok to go back often (like Pancho's). Not to criticize others, but to seek to understand them. Empathy. Walk in their shoes, ride their bus, before you judge who you think they are, what they need or how to fix them. Never assume you can fix someone or solve their problems, because you can't do either.

He was here.

And sometimes he got mad. At people. But only at people who didn't respect other people, especially his friends. He defended the people he loved. He loved everyone who loved and respected others. If you didn't, he didn't have any tolerance for that. He fought for injustice even when it wasn't popular.

Another song plays:

"Love like I'm not scared, Give when it's not fair, Live life for another, Take time for a brother, Fight for the weak one, Speak out for freedom, Find faith in the battle, Stand tall but above it all, Fix my eyes on You"

He did that. Roland loved like he wasn't scared, he gave when it wasn't fair, he lived his life for others, he took time for so many brothers and sisters, he fought for the weak one, he spoke out for freedom, he found faith in the battle, he stood tall and above it all, he fixed his eyes on God. He did all that.

I've never been kicked in the face, but I've been hit with some baseballs, softballs, soccer balls, elbows and a car bumper (long story) in the face. What I'm feeling I can only describe as a kick to the face. My eyes keep welling up. My throat closes. I get pain under my eyes. My teeth and jaw hurt because I find myself having to remind myself to let go. I think this is what a roundhouse to the face would feel like. I keep putting make-up on around my eyes, knowing it won't be there by the end of the day. I have black streaks on my t-shirt and pillow.

My life, this world, is a better place because Roland was here.

"I just want them to know That I gave my all, did my best. Brought someone some happiness. Left this world a little better just because.

I was here"

Roland Edmonds' body was laid to rest on my birthday November 1, 2014, but his spirit went to Heaven a few days before.

(song lyrics from Beyonce's I Was Here and For King and Country's Fix My Eyes)