My muse isn’t happy with me. I didn’t make a post yesterday. I promised I would make two today.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. On December 15, 2002, Ben’s uncle passed away. Ben turned twenty-one on the 18th of December. Unlike most, his 21st birthday was spent at his uncle’s funeral.  Ben hadn’t thought he would spend this milestone day in this way. There were a lot of thoughts about the future and eternity going through his head that day.

Being from out-of-town, and not knowing anyone else at the wake, he took his plate of food and sat down in the corner by himself. A few minutes later he was joined by a friendly lady who was also from out-of-town. She had no qualms about sitting down with the young man, looking so out of place in the very conservative group with his long hair tied back in a pony-tail, and an earring in one ear. While they ate, their conversation ranged from politics to the after-life. She has never forgotten their conversation and declared later, “That is one young man who is saved eternally.”

Later that year, Ben moved to Dallas and shared an apartment with his sister. He took a job with a construction company and ended up working on the interior of the new terminal at the airport. Most days he hung sheetrock in Terminal D at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport. Most of his weekends were spent at Mozier Valley dirt track racing and hanging out with the crowd there. The number of tall, gangly trophies in his collection increased.

The following year, he began to realize he wasn’t happy living in Dallas. He was only really happy living in Barbados. The little rock where he was born, called to him like nothing else. He asked his Mom what he should do. She knew it was where his heart was. So even though she was living in Dallas herself by then, and knew she would miss having him nearby, she didn’t discourage his thoughts of returning to his homeland. So he turned over his F150 to his sister, sold his dirt bikes and most of his stuff, and headed back to his island in the sun.

It was exciting to be back, to visit his old haunts, to hang out with his old friends, to share the responsibility of an apartment with his brother and get back into the life that had called to him for years. But he didn’t have a bike to ride. Every day at work, he saw a 650 propped against the building next door. One day he met the owner of it and asked him about it. The owner told him it wasn’t working, but if Ben could get it working, he could have it. Ben told him no, he wouldn’t keep the bike, but would it would be cool if he could just borrow it once in a while.  So he sent away for the parts it needed to get it working.

December 2006 rolled around. He had just been to Texas. He shared Thanksgiving with his family. He took a road trip and met up with a lot of his old buddies. On the 15th of December Ben and his brother planned a party for their employees. He was baking the ham and had to call his Mom and ask her how to do it. It was a rousing success, with everyone playing dominos, eating ham cutters and drinking rum.

Around 8 o’clock Friday night of the 15th, his Mom answered the phone. It was Ben’s brother. With his voice breaking, he described her worse nightmare. Ben had been hit head-on while riding the 650 by a young man passing out a line of cars. As he lay on the ground with his life blood soaking into the ground, the driver of the truck behind him, knelt beside him, telling him he was going to be okay. But Ben’s right arm had been severed completely. It lay several feet away. Ben tried to sit up and then fell back. The night became still and silent. Benjamin’s spirit left the physical body it was bound to, because it was no more.

Oh my son, my love, I didn’t know. I didn’t know this is the way it would end. I didn’t know when I gave you your name, this is what God had in mind for you. You are bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh and it is blood of my blood pouring out on the ground. How can I go on living now………