Life's A Bitch...Then You Die

Just so everyone knows, I REALLY don't feel like writing this. I was supposed to be writing about something happy. I was SUPPOSED to be writing about my trip to Nebraska. I should be posting pictures about a victory over hated rival Oklahoma. I should have a story on how I went to Howie's and got tanked with some old friends at Woody's in Lincoln. I should be nostalgic about how I never should have left the best football school, the best university on the planet, the place of my birth. But I had to sell my plane ticket, my game tickets. I had business to attend to.

I never really understood that phrase. Life's a bitch, then you die. It's almost been two years since I lost two of my best friends, Nate Butler and Jason Dimmick. This past week, I lost my cousin James Williams, and Rachel Newell, someone I've known since she was a baby. Our parents worked together, and I was childhood friends with her older brother, Ralph.

My cousin James, or "Little J" as we liked to call him, was the son of James "Big Jamie" Williams. Forever, I've been called Jamie, and most people from Midland, West Virginia, Georgia and Nebraska, know me as Jamie. Even though I thought it was a girl's name, he used it. Granted, he was 6'5, 255 pounds. I loved him because when my brothers picked on me, when my cousins picked on me, he always had my back. We were both reserved, quiet kids.

He died on my birthday. I cry every birthday when I think about him. He was older than my oldest brother, but close enough to Midland that I could see him a lot. He frequently had me in Detroit with him, when he could get time off practice. He was a Detroit Lion, and he's the reason I cheered for them, even to this day. The only club who'd give him a chance became a lifelong love of mine. I was his shadow. Everyone in my family called us "the Jamies." He was "Big Jamie" and I was "Little Jamie." When he had his son, I told him to name him Jamie. I'd like to think when he named him James, it was because of me. He became "Little Jamie." I was just Jamie after that. I told my cousin when he died that I would take care of "Little Jamie." When "Little Jamie" grew to be "Lil J" as we called him, I promised again, every time I went to my big cousin's grave, that I would help train his son. With Lil J's death, I feel an overwhelming sadness that I never thought possible. More than just losing a cousin, I feel like I failed my cousin Big Jamie. I couldn't protect him.

I've been getting the typical messages, all messages I've given others along the way. Put your trust in the Lord; we're praying for you, so on and so forth. It's surprising how little comfort those words can give after weeks like this one.

I guess I understand that phrase a lot better now.