When All That's Left is Questions

from the mom

Early this week I found out an old friend (from my high school and college years) had died. We had lost contact nearly 6 years ago when I was married and I had tried to find him on Facebook a couple months ago. I was friends with his sister (I was between them in age) and like me, she had one brother and they were very good friends. I felt a loss, but mainly for her.

Then I found out the next day that Jorren had taken his own life. Suddenly it was different. I was sad he had died so young....But suicide. It brings up a whole new set of feelings. A frustration with Jorren, a lack of peace, questions about BIG BIG things. Trying to write about it is even hard.

Jorren was a strong Christian. At least that's the person I knew. He was the first person to encourage you through the hard times, the person who always brought you back to your faith when you had questions. He always had a smile, often accompanied by a puzzled look because he was sooooo analytical he was always trying to find the deeper meaning behind what people said. (This isn't a good practice with high school girls--not known for depth.)

And last month he killed himself because he couldn't take the pain (extreme physical pain resulting from a bike accident) that had led to sleep deprivation. He carefully researched his spiritual beliefs on suicide; left tapes for his family; spent several weeks with his sister, her husband and three children. He called her the day he died to say he loved her (which she wouldn't have found unusual because he never missed an opportunity to tell people he cared). He left no clues; he planned meticulously.

And he left a lot of people hurting. And that is what doesn't make sense. Jorren never wanted to hurt anyone. Did he not realize that death is the final blow to belief? To bearing his cross? To believing in miracles? To letting people help him? All that's left is questions.