Today would have been my friend Kevin’s 32nd birthday and I wish so badly that I could call him and tell him I’m thinking of him and reminisce about old times together.
I don’t know all the details about why he chose to take his own life this past fall, but I think there must have been despair and there must have been isolation and the very deepest pain.
Kevin was a loyal friend. He was intelligent and sensitive and thoughtful. He was compassionate and empathetic. He was fun and interested in lots of things for their own sake.
I’m tempted to spend the day sitting in my chair and crying and asking why. I’m tempted to blame myself and every other person in his life for failing him. I’m tempted to force the things I don’t understand to make sense.
I struggle against these thoughts to remind myself that God’s tender-loving-kindness is greater than anything else. So instead I’m making chicken stock and crying, and doing dishes and crying, and feeding my cat and crying.