Memories of Mandi

Today's story begins in a hammock on a lovely, warm Saturday afternoon. This particular hammock, though most of its brethren were located hanging from fences and trees in the surrounding yard, was hanging from the walls of a sweetly decorated bedroom belonging to my two cousins, Mim and Dee. I was attending the first annual family reunion of my mother's side of the family, and was sleeping peacefully. The Complete Works of Jane Austen lay alongside me, and my mind, though no longer perusing them, was lost in its pages.
A gentle touch awoke me, and I found my mother's face alongside my own, love and concern in her features. For a moment, between sleep and wakefulness, I wished to tell her I was fine and swat her away, but I came to wakefulness by the sound of her voice, softly apologizing for waking me, and tearfully bringing me the news that at around 4:00 the previous afternoon, a dear friend and neighbor of mine had been in a car accident. She and another passenger had been thrown from the vehicle; the boy was killed on impact, and my friend was later that day life-flighted to a hospital in Salt Lake, along with the driver, who, though not thrown, was also in critical condition.
I looked at the book at the tips of my fingers. Picked it up. Dropped it again.
My mind was, as cliches suggest, still digesting the information, and nothing, at this point, was more than fact to me. I wouldn't describe it as numbness- I wasn't hiding from emotion or avoiding it; rather, as my mother kissed my hand and left the room, I lay in the hammock, waiting, wishing for some kind of emotion to come. This didn't happen to regular people. This didn't happen to me. 
And even as I unknowingly created yet another story of grief with yet another description of those ever-repeated sentiments, I found myself unable to grieve. In my mind these things were facts; in my heart they were but hazy shapes, unable to break the barrier and make themselves truly known to me.
I found myself climbing out of the hammock; walking out of the room and to the computer I had formerly determined never to touch so as to turn my complete attention to my family. Logging into Facebook. Scrolling through the notifications and messages about normal things; clicking 'like' on silly pictures on my newsfeed. And always, always, reminded of the reason I'd logged on:
"Greatest sympathy for the young man who lost his life; prayers for the other two and their families." 
"I don't know him personally, but from all the posts I've seen I now know how great of a person he was. His friends and family can rest easy knowing that he left behind such a great legacy. Rest in Peace... you will be missed." 
"Ah man. You were the coolest and funniest kid. I remember sitting next to you in seminary, trying to keep a straight face... unsuccessfully, I might add. I'm gonna miss that, man. I'm gonna miss that a lot...."
And then, on another track:
"I love you very much; I'm praying for you doll and I'm coming to see you soon, I know you won't see this but for the people who do, keep her in your prayers."
"Life is fragile. Life is precious. Life is short. Please wear your seatbelts..."
"If anybody can pull through this, it'll sure as hell be you."...

I spent the next few days trying to forget that there was any reason for tears. It was not a forgettable fact; it lingered and still lingers through every moment; the constant question seared on the back of my eyelids: What can I do? 
And finally, I've found something.
I have memories.
I have memories of this girl that nobody else has in quite the same way; I have love and experiences that can be shared- written down and spread around to rejoice in the beauty and joy of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father. The next undetermined space of time on this Blog, whether ended by death or recovery, is dedicated to this cause.

In the highest of hopes and most faithful of prayers:

Memories of Mandi.