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I said I'd write about it again. It's not easy. It's hard to put torment of the soul into words. It's hard to describe the pain of losing someone you love because of their choice. (Though I realize that many of you reading may completely understand this) It's a series of a lack of words. It's this overwhelming feeling that you can never do justice to your description nor to the pain that many surrounding this loss would experience. And it's hard, because it is very much not just your story, it's merely your point of viewing the larger story.
I do remember the funeral visitation vividly though. I remember lining up and wondering what lay ahead. I remember getting out of my car and wondering if my body would actually cooperate with me and allow me to put one foot in front of the other. I remember what it was like to wonder what it would be like to see the family grieve because their daughter chose to commit suicide and feel incredibly helpless because you didn't really know them - you had only known their daughter.
Somehow my body decided that it would keep propelling me forward - through the door and into the unknown. I looked around and felt the awkwardness of it all. I absorbed the hush and the "no one really knows how to do this" air about the room. I sure didn't. And yet, I found as I walked in the awkwardness that it was to watch people have normal conversations. I was perplexed by it all. Though this 19 year old girl lay in a casket in the room with a very obviously placed scarf draped lovingly around her neck so as to hide the truth - there were people who were able to talk about everyday life. There were those who hugged and laughed next to those who hugged and cried. It was such an intriguing scene to me. Here lay a girl who chose to end her life - a reminder of the pain and problems that so many kids face in this affluent area and yet I overheard people who were able to discuss the ins and outs of their golf game.
I do not know the context of their lives. And quite possibly, for some, it was a chance to cope with the huge dose of reality that lay before them. Others may not have known her and though they desired to appear and be supportive for the family, they were not broken within their souls and chatting about their passions seemed like a natural course of conversation. But there were times when I desperately wanted to stand on a chair and yell out at the top of my lungs - "Do you not see?"
Do we? Do we actually see the pain that is life for the people we pass on a daily basis? Do we realize that people in these suburbs are crying out desperately for someone to listen and to actually care? Do we notice that so many teenagers are walking around trying desperately to forget the pressures that seem to overwhelm them? Do we really SEE each other? Do we see the pain of the words that have been hurled at us in insults by those whom we thought actually loved us? Do we see the girl that thinks she will never be beautiful enough and sacrifices herself over and over again in relationships because she hopes that one day - just maybe - someone will love her? Do we notice the young men who are walking around with rage because their fathers constantly make it known that they are not, nor will they ever be good enough? Do we not notice the wife who was wounded by her parents and is now caught in the desire to keep up with everyone else in hopes that one day maybe she'll feel like she's worth something? Do we really see each other? Or is it easier to keep talking about our golf scores. I guess it probably is.
The other is hard. It's messy. We might not like all that we see. We might not be in control anymore if we chose to see and get honest. But there is a question that must be asked: is it worth it?