Remembering Christopher

The Best of Jamie's Column: Remembering Christopher

Isn't it amazing how people come and go in our lives and often we never notice the roles they've played in
helping create who we are? It has taken me several years to come to the understanding, as spiritual beings; we
are given gifts in many forms to move us along our path. People touch our hearts and reach the depths of our
soul and can change us on a cellular level. I have found that when I can sit and reflect on the faces of those who
have taught me many of my most treasured and even painful lessons, it reassures me I am truly blessed. Many of
these individuals have moved on, crossed over, or still remain apart of my life.

Naomi Judd once said that "life is about embracing and releasing" She explained how people come into our life
and we embrace them, love them and learn from them all that is needed, and the time comes when we must be
willing to release them. I remember the first time I read that statement and how powerful those words were to
me. In that instant I understood them completely. How many times had I found someone who my heart reached
out to, who I found a connection with, a bond, just to find several years later they were no longer there. Release
can be a painful lesson or a gracious friend that strengthens us. Whether through the ending of a particular
relationship or through death, release will move us to another level of growth and understanding.

On December 6, 2000, my greatest challenge on release presented itself. . Christopher James Sanders, my
brother's eighteen-year-old son peaceful died in a hospital room while family and friends stood in the quiet halls.
Chris was not your typical teenager. He was thoughtful and loving to everyone, never had a problem telling
those he loved, that indeed he did. He and I were more than just uncle and nephew; we became friends when
he was a small boy. I knew he was special by the way he reached out to others. He was a light to the entire
family. I could become a kid again with Chris and not worry about how foolish I looked or sounded when we
would laugh at something no one else would find the humor in. He was in many ways my own son, or the
younger brother I had always wished I had while growing up. I never minded giving to him, money, rides, gifts;
they came from my heart because I truly loved him. No matter how bad a day was, or how upset I was about
some trivial event in my day, Chris always reached that place in me to make me laugh. He was magic to all of us
and a source of great joy to our family and his circle of friends. When we first found out that he was sick we
were all in such a place of panic. Not Chris! Dear God, please not Christopher! I knew within myself, that no
matter what happened, I had to trust in spirit. I had to cling to the truth that God was in charge and that this
experience was part of Chris' journey, and I had to find peace in learning how to honor that choice his soul was
choosing to act out. I watched my family go through torment as they prayed and cried their way through each
passing day. Test after test, chemo treatment after chemo treatment, slowly the days passed. The once lively
spirited person we knew and loved became a thin, weak and quiet person who wanted to sit in the hospital
room with the shades pulled and the lights off. He didn't talk much anymore because his spark of life was
dimmer now. We each tried to keep our smiles painted on, as we'd visit. We would urge him to eat just a little
something so he'd feel stronger, but to no avail.

We talked several times alone, about God, death, and why this was happening to him. I remember telling him
that as long as I lived I may never be able to fully explain the reasons why…. but I wanted him to understand
above anything else, he was not being punished. God was not making him sick. I tried to talk to him about how
we make choices in life. How we stuff our feelings. He would sit and listen and at other times we would just cry
together. I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. Sometimes I would be doing something and this
overwhelming feeling of panic and fear would sweep over me and I would want to just start running. I had
released many people in my life that I loved through their dying, and had handled it very well, but this one
would be something that I knew would bring me to my knees. I kept affirming that "all is well", that "God is in
Control", "there is nothing to be healed, only God to be revealed". But somewhere inside, I knew that this was
Chris's way of leaving this life.

There was so much that I wanted to say to everyone about how I was feeling, how Chris was feeling and couldn't
find it within himself to speak it. He always worried that he might hurt someone, that so much of his feelings
went unspoken.

That year took its toll on all of us. His parents, his sister, grandparents, we all knew that life would never be the
same without this light called Chris. Even now I find the words so hard to speak in fear I might break down and
cry in front of others, which is probably what I need to do to help work my way through this valley. Chris would
get upset with me for being so outspoken at times, but I learned from a friend of mine who spent time with him,
that it was actually one of the things he admired most about me. I smile about that now, because I use to urge
him to do the same. He rarely did. I see the pain in the eyes of my mother, his grandmother, who loved him with
every piece of who she is. She stayed by his side through most of his hospital stays and never begrudged a
minute of it. For her it was an honor to share the times of silence, the tears, and conversations that only the two
of them knew of. I see my brother struggle to keep living his life knowing that his only son has gone. The talks
with Chris' mom, her pain, the words that want to come and can't. His sister, who lives with the guilt of
wondering if her brother, knew that she loved him. I watch them all. I hurt for them, each for different reasons.
Death can seem so blunt and final. I know that our lives have been touched by having had him for the short
eighteen years that we did. I know that his presence touched my heart and soul on a level of love I have never
known. He taught me many things about what life is and so much more about what life is not. I live in gratitude
now everyday that God gifted me with the very essence of love that Chris is. I say is because I know beyond the
shadow of a doubt that love is eternal and goes on forever. Love never dies. It goes onward with the spirit of the
one who has passed. The pain of missing him is still very strong for me. I find moments in my day of
remembering, of missing him coming through the door smiling at me or calling. I have moments where I can
give thanks for having had him in my experience. I have moments of tears that come unexpectedly.

There was a song that I heard several years ago by Regina Bell that always made me think of Chris and his sister
called "If I Could". I found that song the other day and thought twice about putting it on. I did, and then I cried
like I hadn't cried since the morning he died:

I listened to those words and sat on the end of the bed and let the tears that had been held back for months,
burst forth. When the song ended I felt so peaceful sitting there staring at his picture. "Embracing and releasing",
I heard those words once again. I know that no matter how many years will pass, how much joy I find in my life
in the days ahead, I will always have the memory of my years with Chris. He will always be remembered for his
laughter and his kindness that he so willing shared with us all. I know he is fully aware of the love that we feel
for him, the conversations we each have when we are missing him the most. Life offers us such great gifts when
we take the time to notice that they are standing before us. Embrace what is there in the moment. Love the
people who bring you happiness and give you fulfillment. And if and when the time comes to release them, you
can do so with a full heart and grateful spirit.

Jamie Sanders is an ordained New Thought Minister, ordained through The Barbara King School of Ministry in
Atlanta, Georgia. He has been the producer and host of his own weekly television program, "Positive Living" and
is an active speaker, workshop facilitator and performer for Unity Churches, retreats and other New Thought
organizations. He is a featured columnist for "The Light" and "Alternatives" magazine and currently resides in
Fort Walton Beach, Florida. For more information on available dates for speaking or for correspondence you can
e-mail him at Jamie1118@aol.com, or visit his web site at www.jamiesanders.com