Tomorrow is not promised…

Posted on | March 24, 2010 | 5 Comments | Category: Sentiments

Wednesday night, at 10:52, a young man posted on his Facebook page a status that read “tomorrow is another day”.  At 10:54, Johnathon Chapman replied ‘no it’s not’.  I have no idea what they may have been conversing about.  Nor do I know what may have prompted John to write such a response.  But I do know, that truer words have never been spoken.  For tomorrow is NOT promised.

Thursday morning, at 7:58 my cell phone rang.  I didn’t answer it.  I never do when I don’t recognize the number.  At 8:00 it rang again.  Same number.  I still didn’t answer it.  Surely they’d leave a message if it’s that important.  And I wanted to finish what I was doing, and meet a deadline.  I continued with my project, and a feeling came over me.  “What if something is wrong”.  The moment I thought it, the voice mail notification sounded.  I listened to it.  My good friend Ruby left me a message asking me to call her back as soon as I got the message.  She didn’t sound like herself.  I really needed to finish what I was doing.  But.  She didn’t sound like herself.

My return call was answered with tears.  I heard the words but didn’t believe them. (Still don’t.)   She said simply ‘John John died’.  I yelled so loud, I’m surprised I didn’t wake up my daughter.  All I could say was ‘What?!’.  She repeated it.  “My baby died”.  I still didn’t believe it.  I asked what happened, though it didn’t matter.  A young man, who I personally new and loved; who’s been friends with my baby for several years ~ was gone.

After speaking with Ruby my mind immediately went to my son.  At 14, a freshman in high school, he and John John were the only two freshman who were moved up to varsity for not only the playoffs, but for the forthcoming year.  The pair, now in the 9th grade, had been friends since the 2nd or 3rd.    Numerous sleepovers.  Countless arguments.  Best friends through and through.  At that age, I’d never had something so tragic to deal with.  Even in adulthood I haven’t.  I didn’t know what I’d say, nor how he’d take it.

I prayed for my entire 5 minute drive to the school.  As I parked, my mind went back to Ruby.  My heart broke again.  She lost her baby.  I had to tell my baby that he’d lost his friend.  About 12 feet in front of my car, I saw two men speaking with a young boy.  The boy, was my son.  The men were the coach and athletic director.  They had just pulled Aaron out of his class to tell him the news.  I got out of the car and called his name.  All three of them looked at me somberly.  They began walking toward me.  The expressions told me what they then verbalized – they’d told Aaron of the passing of his friend.

My plan was to take my son home and hug him up.  Hugs are no longer his style though.  I miss those days.  He was so deeply troubled and in a way, I could tell, the news hadn’t quite registered.  For some reason, I thought to ask if he wanted to go home.  He indicated he’d rather stay.  For some reason that made sense to me.  I left him there and headed over to the Chapman house.

I was scared as I approached the house that I’d driven to so many times before.  This time, it was surrounded by fire trucks, police and paramedics.  People were all over the lawn.  As I approached, I made eye contact with one lady and so I went to her.  She informed me that the coroner was about to remove the body.  Wow.  John, who was easily over 6ft tall, and definitely over 200lbs, looked so small.

We barricaded his mom so she wouldn’t have to see it, but then formed a circle around him to pray.  With our heads bowed Ruby lay against my arm sobbing and gripping my hand.  No mother.  No father.  No parent should have to see their child like this.

Inside the house, Ruby began to clean up… do laundry … do whatever she had to do to busy herself.  The telephone began to ring off the hook.  The oldest daughter had been taken to emergency earlier that morning, hyperventilating.  It was all surreal.  One of the most touching and sorrowing visions though, has been John, Sr.  Though friendly, he always kept to himself.  We always sat in a group together during the years of football.  He was chain smoking and undeniably beside himself.  Who wouldn’t be.  While people were clamoring around mom… dad usually stood off by himself staring at the ground and smoking.  A few days later when I hugged him again, I could feel he was still trembling.  My heart still aches.

My son, upon returning home that evening, was also undeniably shook.  He said the reality of it hadn’t hit him.  He began posting his thoughts, feelings, pain ~ on Facebook, which gave me some type of consolation.  I was glad to know that in his own way, he was getting it out.  Mourning.

That night, at the football field, was a vigil.  I was amazed at the number of people that showed up.  Johnathon has touched the lives of so many!  Not just his peers.  Not just sports fans.  But all kinds of people in the community.  85% in red ~ his favorite color.  He would have loved it.

The hardest part was listening to his sister recant the details of what had occurred that morning.  A story I don’t think I’ll ever forget.  A person I know I’ll never forget.

John John said (basically) that tomorrow is not promised.  Truer words have never been spoken!  John John, who had been an athlete the majority of his life, who was preparing for his treasured varsity football team, who made all his peers laugh right when they needed it ~ had an enlarged heart that ceased working sometime after his proclamation ~ ‘tomorrow is not promised’.

Rest in peace John John… I’ll miss you dearly,

Aaron’s mom…

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