I haven't been writing much this week...or last for that matter. I couldn't find the words. Me...the person who never shuts up...couldn't find the words. This morning, I made my pot of coffee, put on my favorite pandora station and thought about yesterday and the funeral of a lovely young man.
He was 17 and loved to snowboard. During the slide show, it was hard to tell who was bundled up on a Ride snowboard sailing through the air. It could have been any of the 17 years olds I know...good snowboarders, wearing helmets, going off of jumps and landing them.
His youth leader at his church talked of his quiet sense of calm at every function and how he was a cornerstone of their youth group. She talked of how they went to the Bahamas to do mission work, in Denver to help the Urban Ministries, and to the hurricane ravaged part of the US to help those folks.
He was in advanced math, sat with my son in class and generally did well in school. He sounded like every teenager...every son that a mother wanted. He was a good kid...no a great kid. I couldn't help wonder why.
I sat in the service and looked around at my son's buddies. They were all in tears...in disbelief that one of them felt enough pain to end his life. You could see through the tears that they didn't understand and couldn't understand. I watched his parents...devastated and beyond sad. His father read a letter that he wrote to his boy. He wrote of the things he looked forward to when he got a little older...of having a beer after a long day, of watching him fall in love, of taking a long road trip to see the United States. Now, those things would not happen. In an instant, everything changed. His boy is no longer here. His mother sat quietly...barely able to breath. Simply done in. The baby that came from her body was gone all too soon by his own hand. How does one come to terms with that?
All at once the funeral was over and we made our way to the cemetary. I stood in the back and watched the group gathered. His friends, all dressed in starched black shirts and pants, were so handsome, young with so much life ahead of them. We should have not been there. They all should have been in the powder at the ski area jumping off of cliffs and catching big air...not burying one of their own. The pastor said the prayers to bury him and thanked the crowd. One by one, the boys walked over to the casket and touched the shiny pine box with flowers. Some drew a cross with their fingers, some blew a kiss and in tears walked on.
Finally it was my turn and I walked up. I walked to the top of the beautiful shiny pine box, bent down and whispered..."Mac already misses you...may you be at peace now" and walked on. I walked to my car in a daze and when I sat in the seat, I started to cry. I couldn't stop for a long time. I started to think of all the times I had been at that cemetary and for whom. Too many and too young.
He was such a regular kid...liked sports, outdoor activities, horses...his buddies and AC/DC. He was a kid like mine and probably like yours and now he is gone. He decided that he needed to go, I guess for some reason and made it happen. I am so sad and scared and afraid and feel vulnerable for my boys.
The sun came up today and it was warm and breezy...beautiful. I thought of this boys parents and the pain of trying to find what the pastor called a "new normal". When he said that, I thought, nothing will ever be normal again. Nothing. I hope they find some peace...some comfort somewhere, from something that can help them go on.
Mac and I will go over tommorrow and visit the fresh grave and leave some flowers. I am sure we will stand in silence until I ask why? I will let Mac talk until he can't anymore. Sadly though, I don't and won't have any answers. There are no answers...just questions...and the main question that I will continue to ask is why?
Rest in peace dear Bryce...may you find the peace you were looking for.
We love you and will all miss you.
We'll tawk tommorrow,
I love you all,