Jonathan Daniel Forrester

November 27, 1980, I became an aunt for the very first time.  I was only 8 years old.  I don't have any memories of my sister Rachel being born just 2 and a half years earlier.  But between 6 and 8 years old my memory kicks in and I have vivid memories of that day.  It was Thanksgiving and my sister Amanda, gave birth to twins.  Our whole family felt blessed because of the birth of these precious blessings.  Twins, really?  And they were beautiful.  I was head over heals in love with my nieces from that day on.  Not too long after that, my sister had a boy, Ben.  Again, crazy in love.  Then came Jonathan.  He was the youngest and boy was he a character.

I loved them all so much.  Each one of those nieces and nephews were so dear to me.  Since we were close in age, it felt more like they were my younger sisters and brothers, but we didn't live together, so we didn't fight like siblings.  I clearly remember the thought, "I think I'd go crazy if anyone tried to hurt them."

My nephew Jonathan was small when he was born and had trouble gaining weight and I remember night after night praying for him with my dad and Rachel before bed.  I was worried and he was precious.  Jon-Jon, his nick name when he was young, ended up growing just fine and was a healthy and adorable little guy. We spent nearly every Sunday together, because my sister Amanda, her husband Steve and family would come for Sunday dinner and stay until night church.  I loved that.  I remember so many Sundays that little Jon-Jon would still be sitting in his highchair way after every one else was done eating.  He was too busy playing to eat.  He would be sitting there as happy as can be making his spoon talk to his fork.  I loved that about him.

As he grew older, he was still easy going, fun loving and funny.  He made the whole family laugh.  He was 7 when I left for college, so I didn't get to see him as regularly after that, but my love for him never faded.  I married, he became a teenager.  I had a baby, he graduated from high school.  Somewhere in there, he learned to do an amazing impression of my Aunt Jan and her wooden dummy Janny Joy.  He had us all rolling with laughter.  I remember so many good times.  I didn't know how sad he was.

Somewhere after that, addiction set in.  I know he struggled greatly with his health and crohn's disease, but I don't know exactly what led him to alcohol and drugs, maybe he was searching for relief, maybe he felt inadequate, maybe, maybe, maybe.  I just don't know the answer.  I only know that we still loved him.  We wanted what was best for him.  We prayed for him, we begged God for him.

He did recover for a while.  He was doing great in rehab, in recovery.  We were happy for him.  So very happy.  Although he worked hard, it didn't last and before we knew it old habits were returning.

Yesterday, I watched a documentary on Chris Herren, a very talented basketball player for the Boston Celtics.  He was also an addict.  He was addicted to alcohol, heroin, oxycontin...you name it, he did it.  It was a very inspirational story.  He finally overcame his addiction.  He is making amends.  Talking to kids about alcohol and drugs.  Busy being a loving husband and father.  He got so many second chances.   And I'm left wondering, why him?

Don't hear me wrong.  I'm not angry.  And not for one second do I wish this man any harm.  I'm so glad his story didn't end like my nephew's.  But still, it's such a mystery.  So many things could have been different about my nephew's story.  But God let him die.  Why?  I don't have the answer and I'm okay with that.  I trust that my nephew is with Jesus and not struggling anymore.  And I have no theology to back this up, and it really is just my opinion, don't take it for anything more than that, but I believe that if there would have been any healing here on this earth for Jon, God wouldn't have taken him home so soon.  God is not surprised by his tragic death.  His days were numbered before Jon took one single breath, as are mine and yours.

But here we are.  We're left with broken hearts.  We have to keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other.  If I had known Christmas would be the last time I saw him, I'm sure I would have done some things differently.

I don't even know where I'm going with this blog post.  It feels like a bunch of mashed up thoughts, but today marks 6 months since I received that terrible call telling me he was dead.  I guess I just want to say that he mattered.  He mattered to me, and to so many other people.  We loved him.  We still love him.  Tears still fall.  We remember him.  I remember him.

Life cannot always be rolled up into a neat little thought.  Life is messy and it hurts.  My nephew is gone and he's not coming back.

I would so appreciate your prayers for my sister Amanda, her husband, Steve, my nieces Tiffany and Tabitha and my nephew Ben.  How do you recover from something like this?  Well, there's only one answer and His name is Jesus.  There is no other way.  Jesus, we need you.  Minister to us here and now.  We love you and we know you love us.