To Live and to Grieve

" . . . and those who died in the faith of Christ are happy in him, as we must needs suppose."  --Alma 46:41

To say that life has been challenging lately is to say very little, but that's all the starting line I seem able to manage. I've felt so much need to express myself and so little ability to do so. This morning I saw a Facebook post from a friend who told his story of the events from his perspective; I thought that was a good idea, and now intend to do the same. I'm writing more for my own sake than that of anyone else, so while I welcome comments, I am not asking for them nor am I looking for pity, only expression. I'm also not allowing for any dishonesty, so read at your own risk, but if you read, read through to the end.

A few weeks ago, I was on Facebook and saw another one of those missing person posts, that I'd decided not to share anymore; then I saw who it was that was missing, and it was someone I knew. A friend. Oh, no. I quickly shared the post with a caption that must have sounded as dumb-struck as I felt, "I know him. He's a friend . . . " I wanted people to know that I wasn't just sharing another missing person post; I was hoping to find my friend. He was someone I actually knew and loved.

As time went on and I checked FB compulsively, I learned that my friend had left a note with "depressed and suicidal thoughts." No, no. But they hadn't found his car yet, maybe he just drove and drove, and maybe he's alive. They expanded the search nationwide, and with others I shared pictures of his car for my friends and family to watch out for.

Then they learned of a place where he might have gone, and they made a search. Then they found his car, then the police found him, and then there was no more hope of him living. Then he was really dead; then he had really chosen to end his life. I hated seeing those words on my phone screen. "Harry has been found. He is deceased . . ." My husband was kind enough to let me hide as long as I wanted. I lay on my bed and cried and stared into space and thought and cried and cried. I couldn't believe it, and I had to believe it; and it couldn't be true, and it was true.

My heart ached fiercely, and it still does though not constantly anymore. There was a wake held for him a few days later. I wanted to talk to other people who knew him and was looking forward to it. However, once I got there, it didn't take long for me to feel like I shouldn't have gone. I knew Harry in a different way than most of the people there, and had spent very little time with him and them together. They mostly didn't talk to me, and I don't blame them; we were all grieving, and I'd never been part things with them. I had just wanted to grieve with someone instead of alone next to someone. Being already vulnerable, I was thrown back into high school with all the feelings I'd had of loneliness and rejection. So my friend was dead, and the friends I thought I had, I didn't. (And I would like to make clear that no one did anything wrong. Again, I'm expressing my own thoughts and feelings as they have been without hiding, mostly for my own sake of expression.)

I also hadn't seen Harry as recently as many of the others, so maybe I was a bad friend and probably was. Thus I also felt presumptuous and like a fraud, and like I was being told I was a fraud. I decided to leave. The moment I stood up, a friend said he'd wanted to talk to me, which I appreciated and still appreciate more than I can now express. But at that point, all I could think about was the door, and as far as either giving or receiving comfort or even talking about the purpose of the gathering, I was completely worthless.

I went home and sobbed. My kind Joseph put the kids to bed and spent the rest of the night listening to me cry and go on and on about Harry and how great he was; how much I loved him; and how much I wished I could tell him that.

I wasn't able to attend the funeral, which I regret. The night before I had a dream that some new information had surfaced, and he was still alive, and I got to see him and talk to him, which I valued immensely. Then I woke up. It was a hard day.

I wish with all my heart that I could see him one more time and hug him and tell him how important he is to me. How I wish I could talk to him or even just disagree with him on the internet like before and yet appreciate so greatly his kind and non-judgmental way of taking on difficult topics. I wish for one more discussion on correct name pronunciation as he was one of the few people who was so particular about how his name was said just like I am, and was respectful enough to always pronounce mine correctly despite my often fumbling over his. I wish I could introduce him to my husband and children as I always expected I would but didn't get to. I always thought he and Joseph would get along well, they both having the same kind of goodness. I wish I'd known he was gay before he was dead, so I could tell him it didn't matter to me, and I'd love him forever regardless. (He made it public shortly before he died, but I didn't see the post, and I so wish I had.)

I feel such pain at his loss. My Grandma died a couple months before Harry, and her death, while much closer to home wasn't nearly as painful to me as his. She was old and was ready to die, and I got to say goodbye to her. But Harry was young and so full of potential, and I had no idea how much he hurt inside. I wish I'd known, so I could have made more of an effort to be a real friend to him. He should still be here with us. He shouldn't be dead. But we live in a fallen world, which means some things that shouldn't be, are. I am grateful to know that this life is not the end; that God is loving and merciful, and that there is still hope for all of us, even me. I fully believe that Harry is still Harry, that he still exists and is safe with God. I believe I will see him again, that I will get to give him that hug and tell him I love him dearly. I look forward to that day, but I have to finish my life first, and I believe I have a lot left to do.

It's interesting to me that as the pain comes and goes, the moments when it ebbs I feel so much the need to live a good life, partly to honor my fallen friend and partly because that's just what needs to be done. I must live my life, and I must not allow my fears to stop me. I'm not finished, and I must finish well.