There Will Be Tears

             

Over winter break, one of Zebu's classmates committed suicide.
I thought I'd cried myself out during the candlelight vigil
that followed three days later but discovered this past weekend at the
boy's service there is no limit to tears.

As I watched Zebu and friends consoling one another,
holding each other,
crying,
I thought I'd break in two.
And for the first time I absolutely, fully and completely,
understood how suicide transfers the pain of one onto many.
Years ago I was in a very sad place that didn't offer much light or hope,
and didn't think I could continue.
This weekend as I witnessed all that grief, I was so grateful
I'd made it through to the light and spared others my pain.

My heart aches for the boy who was unable to, in that moment,
find a glimpse of something to keep him going.
My heart aches for the family and friends left wondering why.
My heart aches for the many people struggling right now to find the light and hope.

And so the tears continue.


                                                                                             © Wildebeest 2012 

                     

27 thoughts on “There Will Be Tears

  1. My dear friend, I have nothing to offer you and Zebu and all those who knew his classmate but love flowing from my deepest heart. And hugs. Many hugs. xoxo

    • Your love and hugs are greatly appreciated, Lorraine. It’s so hard to witness such grief and pain and I wish there was a way to erase the hurt. In the meanwhile, we’re all hugging each other a lot more in this community.

  2. Oh, Tracy. I’m crying, too. And sending you hugs. I know things are going to be hard for a long time, and wish I could do more than wish you more of those circles of candles and beautiful sunsets.

    • I’m sorry to make you cry, Jeannine. I debated whether to write about this but felt it was something I needed to share. It was painful but also cathartic to put it into words and I so much appreciate your hugs and kind words. Thank you, friend.

      • Tracy, I’m so glad you put it in words. I know that can feel cathartic, and sometimes that’s all we get. Horrible things happen, but there is a grace in facing them and in knowing and sharing. so thank you, friend.

      • Thank you for understanding my need to share this. I also debated turning off comments because I didn’t want it to seem as if the pain in my family comes anywhere close to what that boy’s family is experiencing, but that felt wrong; if I’m going to put this hurt out there for everyone here, I need to allow people to say whatever they need to say.
        So thank you for sharing in this with me, Jeannine, and letting me know it’s okay.

    • There really aren’t any words, are there? Except that it’s heartbreaking and everyone wishes for a magic wand at times like this to make everything all better.
      Thank you much for the hugs, Tracy. I’m accepting the spirit of those and sending them along in this community…

    • Thank you, Jeni. Zebu has his ups and downs but he’s doing all right, I think. He’s very close with a couple of his teachers and has been talking with them plus talking here at home and with his friends, of course. He’s even more open to hugs from me than usual (as are all the kids) and when he’s in my arms, I can imagine everything will be all right.

  3. I’m so sorry that Zebu lost a classmate in such a heartbreaking way. I hate that the world can be so terribly hard on us. At the same time I’m grateful that you made it through your own dark days and I hope others out there will find their way.

    • It is heartbreaking. Life and death, both. Thank you for your kindness regarding the dark days I suffered and please know I’m grateful for pushing on through and connecting with kind-hearted people such as yourself. The world needs more love and heart to keep everyone afloat.

    • You’re absolutely right, Barbara. There’s not much else to say about the profound sadness of the situation. Thank you so much for your support, now and always.

  4. Hugs.
    I’m glad Zebu’s friends are there for each other. That matters a lot.
    “Years ago I was in a very sad place that didn’t offer much light or hope,
    and didn’t think I could continue.
    This weekend as I witnessed all that grief, I was so grateful
    I’d made it through to the light and spared others my pain.”
    This comment box isn’t big enough to say all I wish I could say on this. I wrote an entire book about this, and still it isn’t enough. And after all, when the lightning strikes, the best thing we can do is listen.
    So … listening here.
    More hugs.

    • Jenn, I didn’t realize your next book deals with suicide. That must’ve been emotionally draining to write but I also know it means you have a special understanding of what this is all about.
      Zebu is doing all right, I think, talking to friends and teachers and here at home. He and I are laughing quite a bit these past few days which makes me tear up sometimes with gratitude that we still have that chance.
      As for my past experience, I felt the need to share that because it didn’t seem fair to talk about a young person who lost that struggle without acknowledging I’d been there, too. It was a profound experience seeing all that hurt in one room, knowing I’d come close to causing the same. Thank you for your kindness and willingness to listen.

  5. The anguish is deep and wide, I know this. And I’m so sorry you have to cross this river, my friend.
    I am hugging you across the miles, Tracy, and sending up prayers. Peace, peace, peace…and endless, boundless love. xoxo

    • Melodye, I’m sorry you’ve had to live this kind of pain, too. It is a deep and wide river of hurt, that’s for sure. But I feel your love and good thoughts and all those hugs, and am sharing them with Zebu and everyone else here. Thank you for your faraway friendship that somehow always feels close and personal.

    • Thank you much for your good thoughts, Barb. I know you’re grieving right now and it means so much to me you can still share your heart with us.
      I’m sending more hugs your way…

    • Oh, Laura. I’m so sorry you know this pain, too. It’s horrible to contemplate the ripple effect from all the suicides that happen every day. So much hurt and so many broken hearts. It’s good to have friends to share the pain, though. Thank you.

  6. I don’t know how I missed this Tracy, but I circled back here after reading your recent post about Zebu, who is my new hero. I’m not a religious person, but I believe there is grace and beauty laced in with the pain. It’s good that you were there—are there— with Zebu and his friends.

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