He died nearly four years ago, a little over a month before he turned 19.
I read his story a couple of months ago. I watched the video he put together with his friends.
It has stuck with me.
A young man who knew when he was going to die, and was scared... for everyone else.
A young man who met his death with calm contentedness.
And my mind still turns over his story regularly. And I still wonder: how can anyone be so satisfied when they can see the last grains of sand running out of their life? And if I was to be in a situation like Clayton... dying and knowing it... would I be as content? Would I be as concerned about everyone else as he was?
And I penned the other day, as writers do, a scene from someone's story, and it answers the first question far more eloquently than I ever could:
"Why? Why are you so..." he stopped, turning his head away. He was afraid he'd start shaking her again. "This is your own life we're talking about. How can you be so calm?"
She stretched her hand up, gently placing it on his cheek, turning his head so he had to meet her eyes. "Al-Messieh kalm" she said, her voice warm and gentle.
Her eyes, warm and compassionate, seem to draw him out of himself. He pressed his lips together, choking back the rote response. Her eyes saddened. She reached up on her toes and kissed his forehead. Without saying another word, she walked out of the room.
He stayed where he was, eyes wet, heart heavy.
"What did she say?"
The question reminded him of the others in the room. He blinked, throat working. "She said 'Jesus is risen.' "
As for the second question... I hope so. But to be honest... I don't know... I just don't know if my faith runs that deep yet... and that scares me more than the thought of death.
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