Searching for Answers

Sunday afternoon started incredibly normal and calm. The whole family pitched in and made spaghetti. The girls worked on bread and cooking noodles, while Shelly and I made sauce and gave instructions. It was fun. We ate together, then Shelly and I rested on the coach, while the kids played Minecraft together. This semi-quiet was broken when Sarah, our niece, came in the door crying.

It wasn't the kind of sound you hear and dismiss, as you grow accustom to doing as a parent. This was a cry which told you something was wrong. In just a few seconds we were upstairs trying to figure out what was wrong. Her parents had left in a hurry to be with their friends, a family which my wife has known since high school, because they had found their son hanging. I couldn't swallow that last word. She said she didn't know if he was Ok and I wanted to believe he was. I held onto the hope, trying to imagine what kind of accident had gotten him hurt. Perhaps something in the garage. My wife held Sarah and we prayed for Joe. We prayed for his family. We prayed for Sherry and Jay, who were rushing to be with them.

I was not close to Steve and Shannon, Joe's parents, they were people I saw about once a year, but I was hurting for them. Across the day, details trickled in. It didn't appear to be an accident, Joe had passed, had passed before either his mother or father got to him, no one knew why. Why, was the question which hung in the air. It seemed that question and the hurt were linked. No answers meant no relief. I searched the Internet, I tried to extract everything I could from Facebook, I looked in all the corners I could, but there was no indicator there. Nothing looked out of place.

A few years ago, when Joe was in high school, he had come camping with his parents. He was a scout, so knew his way around the campfire and when the adults were cooking their various treats, he wanted to participate. He disappeared for a little while, withdrawing from the festivities and the next time I saw him he was carrying what was clearly a hot, Dutch oven. He grimaced at the weight, but smiled as he brought it. I made a spot and he sat it down.

When he unhooked the top and removed it, the fruit, cobbler, buttery delicious smell hit me immediately and I wanted a piece. The lanky, goofy, well mannered kid, could cook. He spooned me out a piece and then got a piece for himself. He talked about how it could have been better and I told him how good it was. Then, for just a few minutes, we talked. I had no idea at that time, how valuable those few moments would be. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I remember how clear it was he looked up to his Dad and loved his mom. Then he moved on, sharing his creation with others.

He went to Western Michigan University, making a new set of friends there. He liked video games and doing silly stunts. My school. My hobby. In someways, as I looked for answers It only intensified that feeling of confusion as I realized how similar I might have been to him at his age. The parent in me wanted to find the cracks, but I couldn't see them.

I can't solve this. If I hurt, if I am confused, than it is nothing to the pain and loss his parents feel. I can't even comprehend of the words to say to them.

I pray today for Steve and Shannon and for his sister Megan. I pray for the friends from high school and college, who are trying to come to terms with their loss. I pray for Sherry and Jay, and their kids, as they try to be strong for their friends, while they themselves are hurting. I don't have any of the answers to give them, but I trust God does, so I pray.