Friends I never met

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” --Matthew 11:28-30

This past Sunday, I had the privilege of being part of Walk Into The Light, an event held at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo to promote suicide awareness and education. Depression in our young (and not-so-young) adults is a widespread problem; yet we as a society largely behave as though we believe if we just ignore it, it will go away, all on its own. Nothing could be further from the truth. The two-ton gorilla needs to be named-- and shown the door.

There were a number of speakers, all of whom either had lost a loved one to suicide, and a child psychiatrist who shared a very interesting story of a teen who went through the harrowing treatment for a rare cancer, survived and then drifted into depression. When the disease was brought under control, the teen said that he would rather have to deal with cancer again than face the darkness and hopelessness experienced during the depression. 

The keynote speaker for the evening was John Trautwein, former Boston Red Sox player whose son took his own life at age fifteen. If you would like to read more, go here. But the evening wasn't about celebrities or sports stars. It was about families and friends and co-workers coming together and realizing: you are not alone.

I have this crazy desire-- a need, really-- to hear other people's stories. So as we were hanging around before the talks, I decided I wanted to learn more. I wanted to hear about some of these young friends I would never meet in this world, these life songs left half-sung.

There were two large teams of walker I noticed right away: Team Terry in orange shirts, and Team Jenna, in purple. 

* * * * * 
Terry was 26 when he could no longer stand the pain. It was just this past August when his best friend died (not by his own hand). It was simply more than Terry could bear.  

Five days later, even as he was making plans to be married later this month, Terry hurt so badly, and had no one who could listen and actually hear the pain in his words. His mother called it post-traumatic stress. I would call it tragic.

In an ironic moment of "coincidence," out of the hundreds of people attending the Walk, I chose to listen to the story of a young man whose birthday was the same day as mine.

His family and friends drove from over an hour away to be part of this event, in the hope that other families might be spared the pain and anguish and unanswerable questions they are now facing.

And next year, Terry's mother says she will plan and host a Walk in their own-- in Terry's community.

If such good can come from such tragedy, perhaps the life was not lost in vain.

* * * * *
Team Jenna had over seventy members: family, friends from school, children Jenna had babysat. Their purple t-shirts bore a pair of angel wings and the words, "Let's talk, Jenna." 

According to her aunt, Jenna was a "baby magnet." Children just loved to be around her. And Jenna was so good with kids! They would play board games and read stories and play at the park-- moms loved to have Jenna come help out.

Jenna was bright and attractive, with an easy smile and gentle laugh. She made good grades, was about to get her driver's license.

Jenna was sixteen last July when she could bear it no more. 

And only Jenna truly knows what put her over the edge.

But as her aunt said, they cannot live that question, worrying and wondering about the "why." But they can try to ensure that not one more parent or sibling or friend or classmate has to experience the pain and loss they have experienced.

* * * * *
So much pain, going unnoticed. Such deep wounds, seen only by the wounded one. The God who has numbered the very hairs on our heads loves us-- so much-- but sometimes the busy-ness of the world and the many demands we perceive on our time and our lives become too much to bear.

We cannot bear one another's burdens if we do not stop long enough to even notice the heaving sigh, the shackled heart, the shoulders weighed down by anxiety and fear.

We sang last night, too. And so now, I offer the song to you. And yes, I mean it. You've got a friend. 

You are never alone. Never.