The Fragility of Life

On Father's Day, a young man who had just graduated from MBA suddenly and tragically died.  He was a very bright young man - set to attend Davidson College this fall - with a long and wondrous life ahead of him.  And just like that, he was gone.

Sunday evening, while Jude, Joe, and I were watching television, JP asked if he could talk to me.  He was standing in the kitchen and I could tell something was bothering him.  We walked into the living room and, haltingly, he told me that there had been a rumor earlier in the day that the boy in question had died but that the head of school at MBA had just confirmed it. 

With tears welling in his eyes and a confused, broken look on his face, JP asked me, "how can this happen?"

More than a week later, I am still asking myself the same question.

I pulled JP into me and hugged him tightly, not letting go.  More than 15 years go on the Saturday of Thanksgiving weekend, when JP was not yet one year old, I lifted him up and hugged him in much the same way as I cried on his shoulder moments after hearing that Benton's 17-year old daughter,  Elizabeth, had died.  

More than 16 years later, I still ask myself how that could have happened.

I was at a complete loss about how to comfort JP at a time when his heart was breaking.  For the young man who died.  For his twin sister.  For his younger brother, a classmate at MBA of JP's.  And for his parents. 

How can this happen?

I struggled to find the words - any words - to comfort my son when he needed it the most.  Everything I could think to say seemed trite, superficial, and tired.  For once, I didn't have something that seemed profound to tell my son as he faced the fact, again, that life can be cruel and hard sometimes.  I could only watch, helplessly, as the last remnants of his childhood slipped away into the ether.  

I suggested that JP consider talking to our priest, Father Hammond, and he did that after church on Sunday.  I had hoped that he might speak with the grief counselors at school and maybe he will at some point.  Other than that, Jude and I have been keeping a close eye on JP, checking in regularly to see how he's doing.  

Jude and JP attended the memorial service last week at Christ the King on Belmont Boulevard, near our house.  When a bus pulled up and 100 + boys from MBA somberly filed into the church, dressed in blazers and ties, Jude said it was hard for her to keep it together.  I can only imagine.  That afternoon and later that night, Jude and I talked about the young man's family and the unimaginable pain and sorrow that surrounded them.  I've had a hard time thinking of anything else the past few days.

At times like this, I try to find the lesson.  What does God want me to learn.  Again, find the lesson.  

I'm not saying that's the only way, or even the right way, to process grief or an unspeakable tragedy, like what happened at The Covenant School, but it's my way.  The only way I know how to try to make sense of what seems senseless to me.

Life - even and maybe especially for the young - is fragile.  Every day of life is singular and should be treated like the beautiful miracle that it is.  Ever day is a gift.  And we should be thankful for gifts, all of them.  Small and large.

Staying connected to our boys is, maybe, the most important thing Jude and I can do as parents.  How do they feel?  How are things at school?  How are things with their friends?  Are they happy?  Sad?  Confused?  Anxious? 

Life is fragile.  And beautiful.