Eulogy
In hearing the stories, he seems like a pretty nice guy. In seeing the pictures, he seems a lot like you. In reading the obituary, he seems far, far away.
The band kids have a hole in their hearts; thinking about the seasons to come when there will be a hole in the drill. It is an ache that does not go away with time, as everything is a reminder of him. He was in every music ensemble-from drumline to jazz band, choir to orchestra. He was the kind of kid everyone wanted to be around. He loved music something fierce. He played baritone in the marching band. Your best friend played baritone in the marching band as well. What if it was him that died? The constant 'what if's' play out in your mind like some sick midnight horror flick.
He would have been a senior this year. Your friend who was so close to him has a locket that she wears constantly. His picture is in it. She wears it every day. You feel (you know) she never takes it off—not even for drumline. The chain has broken twice since she has gotten it from the constant wear.
You didn't know him, but you feel a strange tug at your heart every time someone mentions his name. You live so close to his district that you would have known him had you gone to school there.
He wasn't in your band, he wasn't your friend, but he was one of us. In the neighboring district, their band is torn about their loss. Members of your band knew him too. The shock of losing a fellow band geek is worse than other losses. This kid had the potential to go somewhere, be something. Now, he'll never see his eighteenth birthday. He'll never go to college and grow up. He's perpetually stuck at sixteen, as a memory you can't forget.
He was ours. He belonged to the world and he belonged to the band and now we guess he belongs to a higher power.
A/N-In memory of Chaz Hunsdorfer, 7-12-07.