At that point, I was two years into my faith and just a few months into my friendship with M. I was in my last year of Junior high school and had recently survived Hurricane Andrew. Going back to school after the storm was rough - school was delayed for a while and when it did reopen, it was twice as full with students from other schools that weren't able to reopen. Space was crowded, tempers short and everyone was in a permanent bad mood.
But as the weeks went on, things slowly improved. The transfer students began to become fewer and fewer as their own schools reopened and things settled into a routine. At my house we finally got power and phones back. Life was beginning to approach normal again.
But as the weeks went on, things slowly improved. The transfer students began to become fewer and fewer as their own schools reopened and things settled into a routine. At my house we finally got power and phones back. Life was beginning to approach normal again.
Until October.
One day, a good friend of mine killed herself.
She had told me she was going to do it. I talked her for hours about it, convincing her not to. Since I was young and invincible, I believed her when she said she had changed her mind.
Turns out, she just changed her timing. She waiting a few weeks, then did it.
She did tell me in school before she went home that day that if anything ever happened to her, there were letters in her locker for her friends and family.
The next day in school, the teachers told us. They brought in a grief counselor, but my grief was just too strong.
That afternoon, when I got home - I called my youth pastor. He spent some time with me on the phone, honestly I was too upset to remember much of what he said.
But I remember what he did.
When I went to church that Sunday, like always, the entire program had been scrapped. In the course of 36 hours - he and the other leaders in the youth area got together and came up with a special lesson about teen suicide, grief and loss. I don't remember much of the details, but I remember I never felt as if I was being put on display or used. I remember crying, and I remember feeling loved. Loved enough that these people had dropped their normal lives to try and figure out a way to help me.
As I moved through the grieving process, I carried that bit of kindness with me. For the first time in my life, I truly knew that when I needed them - my church family would be there for me.
1 comment:
My sad memories of that day end up on the floor of your room that afternoon listening to "Flowers of Guatemala" over and over and over again. It always makes me think of you even now. I love getting to hear the rest of your story and healing. Much love, E
Post a Comment