Standing By

Losing It

(Kevin)

Forget the waiting area.  I wasn't sitting there.  The people there made me nervous.  No offense to psych patients, but I felt uncomfortable.  Especially around the guy with his hand in his pants and, ah... amusing himself.

    I ran past the waiting  room, ignoring the apple that got thrown at me.  Why in the world were they throwing fruit at people, anyway?

    "What, big hot shot recording artist don't wanna sit with the little people?" someone shot out at me as I scurried past.

    "Course not, he's spay-cial," another drawled out.

    "There a waiting room for celebrities so they don't got to offend their privileged entitled eyes by looking at us?"

    No, but there's a men's room.  I found it just around the corner and stepped in.  I leaned over the sink and splashed some water on my face to bring me back to my senses.  Gosh.  I'm normally calm, logical, and reasonable, but seeing Avi as bad off as he had been had shaken me to my core.  Bleeding—oh my gosh, there was so much blood.  All of it pouring out of him had scared me so badly.  My best friend in the world, injured, passing out; he'd passed out at least three times.  And the last one.  Oh my gosh.  My heart could barely take it.  He'd been unrousable from mid-ambulance ride until he'd been restitched and gotten two full units of blood in him.  May brain had told me one thing—that he'd be OK, that he'd wake up and come to once the hypovolemic shock wore off and he got the blood replenished, but my heart had been full of fear, terrified that each passing minute he spent unconscious bode a more unfavorable outcome.  I couldn't lose Avi.  He was my best friend, my heart and my soul.  I'd already nearly lost him once to the cold unfeeling northern California waters that wouldn't seem to let go of him days after the fact.  And come to find out the pain he harbored, kept close, buried deep, nearest to his heart—the divide, the inside jokes of 'the trio', the uncertainty of a new relationship.  Did this Jessica know how badly he was hurting?  Did his family?  Not to mention the very real possibility of self-injury.  Oh my heart.

    I sank to the floor in my own agony, vaguely aware of another man coming in to use the facilities, ignoring me and my nervous breakdown.  Dear sweet Lord in Heaven, don't let him die, especially by his own hand.  I'd been praying hard ever since he'd passed out int he ambulance, repeating Psalms and reciting passages from Isaiah and Jeremiah that the Lord would heal his body.  And true to His word, He had.  The Lord works miracles, Kevin, never forget that.

    I took a deep breath and consciously blew out the worry, the anxiety, the fear weighing on me.  " 'Then Jesus said "Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens'."  So heavy.  " 'And I will give you rest'."  Yes, please, please.  Rest.  From my worry, from my anxiety, from my fears.  " 'Take my yoke upon you.  Let Me teach you because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls'."  Shaky, Olusola, very shaky.  Say it again.  I blew out another breath, blowing demons away, and repeated the verse.  Once.  Twice.  Three times, four times, five times.  Concentrating on each word, internalizing each thought, digesting the assurances.  Slowly but surely, my heart stopped racing and my breathing evened as I lived the words to the fullest. 

    I finally found a peace, an ensuing calmness, and slowly stood, prayer still tumbling from my lips.  OK.  I can handle this.  With Jesus by my side and in my heart, I can handle this. I splashed one last handful of water on my face and stepped out, glancing at my phone.  Half hour.  He'd been in with the psychiatrist for half an hour.  I had half an hour to update everyone.  And by everyone, I meant everyone. 

    Kirstie was first on my contact list, other than Home Free (thought Pentatonix ought to hear it first and they can fill Home Free right in), so I pressed her name.  She answered immediately, probably on pins and needles herself.