I never thought today would come. It was about 1:30pm PST on July 22, 2010 when I realized that my “Ryan Francis” wristband was no longer on my wrist. I had placed that wristband on my wrist in 2006 in memory of Ryan Francis and this is the first time in 4 years that it has not been on me. That statement may give you a clue as to its importance, but I think you need to fully understand the entire story.
In 2006, I was going through a rough time at school. USC is no joke and if you think that getting through your junior year in a Kinesiology program would be a walk in the park, then you are wrong. It didn’t help that I was also being initiated into a sorority. In my chapter, sorority history is very important. You learn about the members that came before you and in depth ways of how you can channel their strengths and continue the work of the chapter and organization. This is a wonderful thing to study the accomplishments of the trailblazers in African-American history, but I wasn’t getting units for this class. I will say that it is one of the best classes I took, but with a full load in my junior year the last thing I needed was an extra class and more studying. Even with the increased studying, I still would have been able to handle my academic endeavors if Life had decided to take a break. Yet, as we all know, Time Waits for No Man and Life happens whether you are ready for it or not.
In 2006, I also broke up with my long time boyfriend. Had he not been my first love, the man who I was planning to marry and had he not cheated on me, then I might have been at a place to deal with Life and School, but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. The spring semester of 2006 proved to be a very challenging one. I’m not sure if you have ever been depressed, but the cartoon portrayals of dark clouds following you are not over exaggerated. You walk around wondering why the heck you are doing what you are doing and when you see other people smile you think, “What the fuck are you smiling about? Must be nice to have something to smile about.” You begin to not like the break of dawn because you know that your day was starting all over and you would have to face another day.
Nonetheless one of the most frustrating things for me at this time was someone asking how I was doing and not really caring. “Hey. What’s up?” I would wonder if they REALLY wanted to know. I had a pretty good feeling that when they said, “I hope you feel better” it really meant “Well that sounds like a personal problem that you need to work out, so good luck with that.” Well everyone except Ryan Francis. You know, sometimes the smallest gesture of kindness can change the world.
Ryan and I both lived in Troy Hall and he rode his bike into the elevator that day, like he always did. It only took 15 seconds for him to ask how I was doing and to really care about the answer. He smiled, told me everything was going to work out and then rode his bike down the hall. We had seen each other MANY times in the USC training room where I worked as a student trainer, but THAT moment made my whole day. When you are in a state of depression to have one day where everything feels like it’s going to work out means the world to you. If you’ve ever been there, you know what I mean. I swore to myself that the next time I saw him, I would tell him how much that meant to me. I did see him again, but it didn’t seem like the right time to tell him and I was still struggling with classes so I decided to wait until the semester was over. The semester had ended, but it still didn’t seem like the right time. Each time I saw him, he was with his friends or seemed (to me) to be busy. When the summer came, I decided that I would surely tell him after the summer was over.
While on my way to church one day a man, who knew I was going to USC, said it’s sad about that boy from USC. I inquired what he meant and he proceeded to tell me that a student had been shot while on a visit home. He and I both expressed how it was sad that he would die the night before Mother’s Day. The gentleman added that it was also sad b/c he would have been a great basketball player. This shocked me b/c I had worked or lived near all the basketball players and at least knew their faces. I nervously asked him which one and he said, “The little point guard. I can’t remember his name.” I asked him if he meant from the intramural team (not even knowing if, but selfishly hoping we did have an intramural basketball team). He said, “No. The little point guard from Louisiana.” My heart jumped b/c I knew he was talking about…”You mean Ryan Francis?” He confirmed and tears filled my eyes. Not only because he was a nice person with a promising basketball career, but b/c I had waited too long to tell him “Thank you. “
If you read some of the earlier blogs you’ll see the importance of a “Thank-you” in my life, but to finally understand why they say “Tomorrow is not promised to you” touched just as deep as his death. When the basketball team handed out wristbands in his memory I wore that red rubber wristband every day. It reminded me that you cannot wait to tell people how you feel or to let them know what they mean to you. It was a constant reminder of a lesson learned. Over the years I had many people die around me and I made sure to tell them what I needed to tell them before they died. The only time I didn’t get to do so tore me up and added to the lesson learned in that bracelet. That wristband had faded and there is a tan line on my wrist that shows evidence of the missing band, but I kept that band on for 4 years b/c it had evolved with me. The bright crimson had faded to pink, but the importance and meaning of the band had evolved with me. It began to encompass the life experiences and lesson I learned from people who had died in my life. The band seemingly became a part of me.
Yet, I began to realize something else. You see, I have no idea where I lost it, if it broke or where it could be. I didn’t notice it was gone until just a few minutes ago. The craziest part is that had I come across a moment where I needed to tell someone how I felt, I would have done so not knowing that the band was missing. I would have expressed myself and remembered that tomorrow is not promised to me. What I’m trying to say is that the band has always been a reminder of a memory and of a lesson learned. Though the band was always on my wrist that memory and lesson has since been engraved in the core of my character. Ryan ”Franchise” Francis and I were not best friends and were more like co-workers. But Ryan Francis had his 15 seconds of fame in the story of my life and now that you have read this entry, his small gesture of kindness may change the world. If I don’t find the band at least I know I’ve found myself.
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