Few. How can such a small word be so huge?
A few teens have committed suicide in Flagler County recently. A few.
How can one write or think about such tragedy and pain? How can one not?
To paraphrase Tolstoy, every happy family is the same; every unhappy one has its own story.
How can anyone understand a young person taking his or her life? How can the world be that bad? Haven't schools, parents, teachers, advisors all clearly communicated that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem? Why didn't these victims listen? Why couldn't they rise above their pain and sorrow? Why couldn't they keep life's travails in perspective?
Why couldn't we stop them? Where were we? How did we become so distracted?
Life can be very stressful, hectic, and seemingly impossible. I feel it. I get overwhelmed. Everyone feels despair, some longer and more deeply than others. During such times, we all crave peace, want an end to our hassles, and wish only for the pain to stop.
Didn't these wonderful and wounded children realize that now our pain can never end?
Clearly, we don't always know how to deal with our troubles. We certainly don't appreciate, or don't want to accept, that often we simply can't resolve some problems. We must live with and through them. Simple, right? If only it were.
Of course, that's easier said than done, and our lost children must have never understood that or, during their times of abject despair, cared.
The pain. The unimaginable pain. What did those kids endure before they concluded they could endure no more? What are the parents, friends, family, and fellow students feeling now? How do they cope? Can I imagine? Can anyone?
Words obviously don't help. If they did, these events would have never occurred. I'm sure somebody, or many somebodies, have offered words of advice or encouragement, but they weren't enough. Imagine how these people feel, questioning why they didn't say more or do more or pray more and agonizing over the right prescription for prevention.
A few. Such a big word. These three letters remind us that teen suicide can occur again. Lessons learned from one loss are seemingly quickly forgotten as another child decides to leave our community crestfallen and crippled.
Imagine the emptiness. No matter how strong is one's faith in God, an afterlife, or redemption, these suicides leave us hurt, dazed, and feeling helpless. Our roles are to protect our children. Don't touch the stove, look both ways, don't drink and drive, blah, blah, blah.
Words don't work. But words -- and prayers -- are all we have.
For those of faith, we talk to God and ask him for healing and maybe understanding, if the latter is ever possible. We pray, but don't get an answer. Why doesn't He hear and help? Why doesn't He show us the way to move on and prevent others from following this tragic path?
He can't hear now. He's hurt and in pain. God's too busy crying.
So am I.
++++
Fred W. Apelquist, III, M.Ed.
Approximately 510 words.
(C) 2001