Butterflies are supposed to be a symbol of happiness and luck.
Ever since the first day of band this season, I have seen at least one butterfly while we were on the field.
Every time I see a butterfly, I think of you.
And I like to think you're thinking of us, as well.
--
Two years ago today, my friend Sascha Simpson died.
Anybody that was in Marching Band with him or knew him by some other means can get this message, and be lulled into a serious mood for a few minutes.
We all remember where we were, what we thought...when we heard the news.
--
I was a sophomore, going downtown to get my hair cut that Friday afternoon. When I got home, I went online and heard from various people that Sascha Simpson was hit by a car and that he was in critical condition.
When I read his name, a face - a friend - came to mind.
And my first thought was, "It can't be him."
I met him when we were in sixth grade together. We went to the YMCA after school to hang out. I would always show him these stupid videos and songs I'd find online, and I'd go and do my homework or something so he could have the computer.
For the next ten minutes, he'd watch those same videos, back to back. I remember the way he laughed no matter how many times he watched them.
For some reason, when he was held back a grade and I moved up to 7th, he and I lost contact.
I don't think I even really got his last name. That's why I wasn't sure if there were possibly two freshman boys named Sascha. I didn't know...
I was talking to one of my friends in band about it. I asked her, "What does this Sascha look like?"
She said, "Brown hair, glasses, really nice smile. He's German."
And my heart sank.
It was him.
I remember that horrible Monday, when we all came back to school. I went into the music suite as I always did, my eyes stinging with tears. I looked up, and I saw other people crying, too. I don't think there was a dry eye in the music department for that entire day.
During Block Four, our principal came on the intercom. She said "I want to tell you that Sascha Simpson was let off of life support at 9 this morning, and that he is no longer breathing."
Somehow, we got through the week up to Friday. We were to perform at his funeral.
The bus ride was silent, all of us in black, the only color being the new bracelets made in honor of Sascha.
Since Sascha was an organ donor, these bright green bracelets say "Donate life" in English and Spanish.
Chamber Orchestra had to perform first. I remember walking into the sanctuary of Mount Pleasant Church, and seeing his casket. I was struck by how small it was. Sascha was tall as me. He was just fifteen years old...not even his full adult height yet.
And here he was. In that polished casket, all snug and safe.
Right as he was, eternally fifteen.
I stepped behind the casket carefully, sitting down in my seat. The pictures projected behind me made me remember him while he was alive all the more clearly.
We played...we had the opening prayer...and Chamber Orchestra sat down in the left wing.
This was the first funeral in which I knew the person.
And this was the first funeral I ever cried at. And was genuinely touched...saddened, but touched. And even slightly comforted.
We listened to the pastor talk, we listened to Sascha's mother talk. God, she was so strong...her strength was awe-inspiring...all of us that were there remember her voice, clear and German-accented. She spoke slowly, making every word count.
She made sure that her son's legacy was heard...and cherished.
Then the band played "It Is Well With My Soul." I remember looking up and seeing tears stream down their cheeks as they made their musical tribute.
I couldn't think of any other way that Sascha would've wanted it.
All of us...his best friends...making music in honor of his life.
That realization alone seemed to create a healthy sense of closure. It wasn't complete yet, but it was better than where it was at the beginning of the morning.
When I packed up my viola and I walked out to the buses, I noticed that the sun was shining luminously, birds were singing, and there was a nice warm breeze tickling my skin. The smell of almost-fall was in the air.
For the first time in a week, I smiled.
--
A year had passed. And I still remembered.
By that point, I was a member of Marching Band. I don't quite remember exactly when I decided that I wanted to join, but I do remember part of the reason WHY.
I remember thinking about Sascha throughout the year after his funeral. I felt really bad that I didn't get back in touch with him when he became a freshman and was in the high school with me. So I figured I'd give back to his life and do something he loved to do, too.
On the one-year anniversary of his death, I made a tshirt. I painted on words that I had written a few days before, concerning this special date.
"His heart still beats. It's the metronome."
On the back, I wrote the date that will stay forever in my memory: September 15, 2008.
--
And here we are, now. Two years later.
I didn't think I'd say this...but when I woke up this morning, Sascha wasn't the first thing I thought about.
I remembered today, of course, but it did not engulf my mind.
I can talk about it a little easier now. It still hurts, a little, but it doesn't hurt quite as much...if you know what I mean.
Last week, we went to the Southport game, like we did the night Sascha was hit by that car...
And Mr Belt didn't mention him, unlike last year.
But I understood. This year, my class and the class of 2012 would be the only people that would recognize the importance of this weekend.
But Sascha was never mentioned.
I'm one of few that still wear his bracelet.
But I know people that have either lost or broken their bracelets...and they told me how awful they felt when it happened.
I wish I knew where they kept the extras. I know they made a LOT of them. I want to give out those bracelets...those bracelets that keep his memory with us in a tangible sort of way.
It seems like we have moved on to the point where we don't need to acknowledge him by name on this day, because we remember and we know and we still love him - we can say a little prayer for him today or whatever in honor of him, if we want.
...but I want to acknowledge his name. A day will probably come when I don't need to write about him anymore. This is probably going to be the last time, in a while. But I know that I will still remember Sascha when I am in college...when I have a family. And if a friend of my child's dies (heavin forbid), I will be able to tell him or her, "I know what it's like." And I will tell them about Sascha.
When a person dies, after a time, their life is no longer simplified or existant by a date or by their name.
Their life simply integrates with yours, in a sort of way. It dissolves, and spreads out into the little cracks and corners, under the rugs...and you are reminded at the most random of times. And they are alive again, within you while you live your own life.
Sascha Nolan Simpson...thanks. I'll thank you again on Senior Night for Marching Band, but...seriously. Thanks, dude. Without you, I wouldn't be in Marching Band at all. And now I can't picture my life without it.
Thank you.
--
They're also building a sidewalk that runs down Laverne Road (the road he was hit on) all the way to the middle school.
I remember how happy I was the day I saw it.
He is still there. And here. And...everywhere.
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