Requiem aeternam

If you were sitting here at my kitchen table, I would tell you a long story about high school crushes, and a golden boy that everyone wanted to be like and liked by, and a heart-broken small town struggling with some kind of virus: its third youth suicide this year.  I would show you the long text conversations with my daughter at school--the I can't handle this, the I just talked to him recently, I sat next to him in math, the why would he do this.  We would sigh together, look out the window at the blossoming world and breathe in the scent of lilacs.

He wasn't mine to mourn but I mourn--for the possibilities he carried away with him and for the lost innocence of invincibility, that adolescent magical thinking. I keep thinking of the Housman poem--remember?

The time you won your town the race /We chaired you through the market-place; /Man and boy stood cheering by, /And home we brought you shoulder-high...

Now you will not swell the rout /Of lads that wore their honours out, /Runners whom renown outran /And the name died before the man...

And round that early-laurelled head /Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, /And find unwithered on its curls /The garland briefer than a girl's.

You would hear the lump in my throat as I told you about this same brave daughter who just weeks ago came into our room late at night and threw a lifeline to another friend facing similar challenges and stayed on the phone, G's hand resting on her back, until help arrived and hope was found. It's hard not to wonder What's going on here? and its close cousin What can I do?

It's hard to get into too many details here and it's really not mine to tell. Let's just say:

Life is fragile. 

You never know who is carrying around a heavy ache.

But I can show you the carving my dad sent us, an icon of my childhood walls made by his hands, that I opened yesterday:

Amen.

Hug someone extra tightly today.

Comments

[allysha]

Oh, Annie.
I am weeping. Your sweet daughter, bless her. It does take so much courage to navigate the waters these days.

[corktree]

Oh wow, the image of your daughter helping a friend while being supported by her parents made me just start bawling. What a tragedy for everyone involved, I'm so sorry to hear that tender young souls are suffering like this. It makes my own insecurities and heartache seem more surmountable. Thanks for sharing.

[Robin]

Thank you for posting this tender sad post. We really do need to reach out and love others. We have no idea what they are going through.

[Christie]

Oh my. That is a whole lot of growing up to happen to one small MA town. I am so sorry, my friend. What a horrible waste of beautiful life. Wish I was there, to sit at your table with a large diet coke and something sweet and hash it out. Hugs from all of us here!

[gabi]

Wow. This is scary and humbling. Thank you for sharing your thoughts so beautifully.

[Michelle L.]

thank you for sharing this Annie.

[Rochelle]

Oh Annie! I am so heartbroken for the family and that your sweet girl is having to deal with things like this in her innocent life. I'm so glad she has a great mom and dad.

[Jandee Jones]

Amazing how really difficult things can put things we thought were difficult into perspective. love the carving.

[andrea]

i went through a similar experience, also twice, when i was her age. it really changes you. i still miss one of those friends dearly. she is lucky she has you and G to help her through.

[Laura]

You never know who is carrying around a heavy ache.
I have come to realize that more do than don't. I cried with Will Pitkin today as he shared a beautiful vision of a solitary Alutian goose landing in an orchard planted in memory of his son. Later, gorgeous Marnie, sans hair, hearing and utterly exhausted asked what I thought of her frightening dream as the taxol dripped into her vein and she spoke of the dear man who used to sit next to her on Thursdays and is no longer there. P called and said, "it's been really hard" and went on to tell of nearly bleeding to death and coming to grips with the fact that she will never give birth to the child she has yearned for all her life. Yvonne woke me to describe a tender moment of knowing she experienced today while gingerly feeding UrOma little spoonfuls of soup. Omas noiseless nod let her know that she felt ok about leaving this earth. If you wander through life with an open heart, you will always bump into someone waiting for a safe place to release their tears. Sometimes it's a precious torrent.