That’s how I spent my Saturday afternoon.
18 years old. College freshman. One of my daughter’s high school classmates. This was the SECOND of her classmates to take his/her own life. Telling her over Facetime from almost 2,000 miles away when we got the news…not being to hold her as she cried in anguish….that sucked.
The church was full. People from his parents’ generation. People – kids, really – from his generation. Their presence killed me. They were regular, odd, unique, some with green hair, some dressed perfectly for church. So many of these were the "different" kids -- the artists, who feel so deeply. The unusual, who don't fit into convention. And so many of them just wracked with sobs and grief. At every quiet moment, cries both soft and strong echoed off the walls. So many of them who were just like him. So many who are loved and supported, but don’t always feel it in the moment.
I sat next to my son, who is having his own struggles with being that age, and how to feel, and being overwhelmed and depressed, and the stark terror of being a parent sat in my bones. I just want to keep him alive.
I can’t tell you how sad it all felt. How sad I felt. How discouraging it was, to have lost a light. How helpless it makes us all feel.
The moment – the communal moment of grief, of shared love for one who was lost, and of love for one another, whether we knew each other before or not – was powerful, and important.
All we really have is each other. Please, love each other. Be kind. Those are active verbs. There are 100 moments in a day when we can choose apathy or even callousness/cruelty over kindness. Choose kindness. Some of the most profound moments in my life are moments when someone showed me kindness when I most needed it. I know I’m not alone in that respect.
Be kind. Please. It matters.