If I Could Speak to a Dead Man

If I could speak to a dead man, 

I would tell him what I think dead men want to hear. 

I would tell him that his body drowned and he was branded a martyr from the second he refused to resurface. 

I would tell him that it took six hours for the divers to find his body sleeping in the stomach of an old lake.

I would tell him that jumping off the ancient railroad trestle was the stupidest idea he had his whole, short life. 

Why would you do that?

I would tell him that the whole community found out in a manner of hours of his passing.

I would tell him that we began mourning him long before 12:45 AM that night.

I would tell him that he finally got his name to trend on Twitter. 

#longlivemalik

   - it was #5 locally

I would tell him that the friends he spent his final moments with wer devastated.

That they fell to their knees in front of his father with the heavy burden of your life on their youthful shoulders. 

I would tell him that though there was grief etched like a map into his father's face, he held each of the boys up with his own two, giving hands and told them to have patience. 

There was no fault of theirs to forgive. 

And that the one brother who was not there with you in your final time, he remained on the ground far longer. 

Sleep does not come as easily to him anymore. 

I would tell him that, in fact, no one slept that night while he probably got the best sleep of his life. 

I would tell him that on the morning of his prayer, the masjid was so full of people, they had to lead two Zuhur salaats with the janazah in between.

That's a blessing.

I would tell him that I saw his sister walk in with a sweet look on her face because she knew you wouldn't want her to cry on this day. 

I would tell him that his cousins drove all night across the state and spent more of their time comforting us than grieving themselves. 

They knew you were at peace. 

They said they saw you smiling. 

I would tell him that there was not a dry eye in the room when his mother walked in. 

Tall and strong with the youngest on her hip. 

She moved like liquid through the crowd of mourners, graciously listening to everyone's sympathies and telling us to have courage. 

I would tell him that my sister cried the hardest that day. 

She never cries. 

 

I would tell him all these things. 

I would tell the dead man that he had gone too soon.

Eighteen.

Class of 2017.  

You should have been visiting colleges and contracting senioritis, not filling your lungs with the green lake water, not entangling yourself in the branches 30 feet below. 

You should have...

He should have gone to a different lake. 

Yes, I would tell him these things

And...

And finally that we miss you him

But what would a dead man want to know about the world he left? 

 

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