Tell My Story
Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash
Content Warning: This post discusses depression and suicide.
Tell my story,
She said.
If it will help someone,
She said.
If it will give someone hope,
She said.
If it will make a difference,
She said.
If it will let someone –
Anyone –
Know that they are not alone,
She said.
If it will help someone believe in second chances
And forgiveness
And grace enough for today
And a God who loves, deeply loves,
She said.
Then tell my story.
Please, tell my story.
All she asked was that I change names and places
So that the truth in her story would
Be in the universality of the story itself,
Rather than in the specificity of her identity.
Tell my story,
She said.
And so I have.
For nigh on 30 years
I have done what she asked me to do –
Over and over again.
I have told her story.
It has been an immense privilege –
A gift
And an honor
To tell her story
In conversations
And devotions
And reflections
And sermons –
A story of
Grace
Mercy,
Forgiveness,
Love,
And hope –
So much hope.
Over the years,
Of telling her story,
She and I lost touch with each other.
As so often happens,
Our lives intersected
In a particular time
And in a particular place,
And the farther we both moved
From that intersection,
In time
And circumstance
And life experiences,
The fewer reasons we had
To stay in touch,
Until eventually –
We simply didn’t.
But she –
And her story –
Have continued to live
In my heart
And in my mind
And in my own reservoirs of hope,
As a tangible presence
Of promise,
An embodied sacrament of a living hope.
Then the other day,
Through the chances and
Happenstance
Of social media,
I learned that she had died –
Unexpectedly,
By her own hand,
Amid the crushing weight of depression.
She who had freely given me –
And literally hundreds of others
Through her story –
Hope –
Had lost all hope,
And surrounded by the overwhelming
Presence of its absence –
She took her own life.
In the days since I have learned this,
I have vacillated between
Sorrow
Grief
Guilt
Regret,
And probably a host of other things
That I haven’t yet been able to name.
At the same time,
I have remembered
Joy
Laughter
Deep conversations
Hard-won wisdom
Grace
Gratitude
Love
And yes –
Hope –
The hope that once
Bubbled up and out
From her like a river flowing full in springtime.
And in my remembering,
I still hear her voice
And her words –
Tell my story.
And so,
In her memory,
And in defiance of all that overwhelms
And presses in
And around
And upon
Any and all of us –
I do,
And I will
Tell her story -
In the sure and certain hope
That the truth which it speaks
Just might stir
Even the most sorrowing heart
to Hope once again.
As I have always done,
I will honor her request –
And now her memory –
By changing all recognizable details.
Mia was, what some might call,
A woman with a reputation.
Her life had been marked by
Challenges,
Difficulties,
Addiction,
Mental health struggles.
This reputation surrounded her –
Often preceded her,
And cast a shadow behind her.
Mia had not grown up
With a connection to
Any faith tradition,
But as an adult,
She had been baptized
And thought it important
For her children to be connected to,
Raised with
An understanding of –
And relationship to –
Church.
Her oldest son loved to sing,
And so the children’s choir
At the local congregation
Became their primary connection
To Church.
As happens with children’s choirs,
They would sing in worship on Sunday mornings.
When these Sundays
Came around on the calendar,
Mia would drop Michael off
At the curb
And tell him she would wait for him
To come out when he was done.
Every time,
Michael would beg,
Please come hear me sing, Mama.
And every time,
Mia would shake her head,
And reply with a variety of reasons
As to why that was not possible.
One on particular Sunday,
Mia dropped Michael off
As she always did.
The now-familiar
Back-and-forth
Played out like liturgy between them.
Please, Mama, come hear me sing.
I can’t, honey, you know that.
Please, Mama.
Not today. Maybe some other time.
You always say that.
I know. Maybe someday.
Promise?
We’ll see. I love you. Now go, before you’re late.
Love you, too.
And off he went up the sidewalk to the front door
Of the Church.
Sitting in the car,
Mia felt her heart racing
As the minutes ticked by.
The closer it got to starting time,
The more she wondered –
Maybe I should.
It would be good for Michael.
I could sneak in the back,
After everyone else is seated.
No one would see me.
I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
And I could leave as soon as the song is done.
She played it over
Several times in her head,
And right before the bell tolled 10:00,
She slipped in the door.
The ushers were still in the narthex.
They exchanged glances
And raised eyebrows,
But one of them handed her a bulletin.
Without making eye contact,
She took it, and slid into the
Thankfully empty,
Back pew,
Just in time for the children
To take their places on the chancel steps.
As soon as Michael found his spot,
His eyes looked out
To the gathered congregation,
And to his surprise
And utter delight
He saw his Mom.
Without the slightest hesitation,
He waved one arm –
And then the other –
High over his head –
To make sure that she would see him.
Chuckles went through the congregation
As heads turned collectively
To see who Michael was waving at.
And then Mia saw them –
The pulled-tight-faces
On the turned-around-heads
Shaking,
Expressions of disgust.
And she heard it –
Two different people
Spoke words
Loud enough for her –
And everyone else to hear.
What’s she doing here?
Poor little boy.
Doesn’t even know what kind of mother he has.
It was all Mia could do to stay in that pew.
She wanted to flee
With every fiber of her being,
But she knew that if she got up and left then,
Michael would be devastated,
And the scene would be worse
Than it already was.
And so she stayed,
The heat creeping up her face,
And her palms turning clammy,
She stayed –
Determined to leave as soon as the song was done.
When the children were finished,
Michael took off down the center aisle
Toward his Mom,
He got to the back pew
Just as Mia was standing up to leave.
Michael, however,
Had a different idea.
He planted himself in the aisle,
Right at the end of the pew,
And pleaded with her to stay.
Not wanting to cause any further disturbance,
Mia sat down,
And Michael took his place beside her.
It was then
That Mia looked ahead in the bulletin.
She saw that Communion
Was to be celebrated on that day.
Good God,
She thought.
I can’t do that.
How long has it been?
I don’t even know how they do it anymore.
As the hymns were sung,
The sermon was preached,
And the prayers were prayed,
Mia decided that they would simply stay in the pew.
There was no way that she would
Parade up in front of all of those people.
When the time came,
One-by-one the ushers
Dismissed the pews.
With each passing pew,
Mia’s heart raced a little faster.
She had whispered in Michael’s ear
That they were not going to go up,
And she hoped that he would listen.
When the ushers got to the back row,
However,
Michael was up and out of his pew
Before Mia could do anything about it.
He got about six pews down the aisle
Before he realized
That his mother had been serious –
That she wasn’t going to Communion –
That she wasn’t with him –
And in that moment,
He stopped.
Turned around.
Looked directly at his mother.
Held out his right hand
And said –
Or rather shouted –
Loud enough for the whole congregation to hear –
Come on Mama. Jesus is waiting.
And in that moment,
Mia –
Lifted by something
Other than her own volition –
Got up from her pew,
Reached for her son’s outstretched hand,
And went forward to the table of grace.
When she told me
This story,
She told me that in Holy Communion
On that day –
For the first time in her life –
She believed in Hope.
Come on Mama.
Jesus is waiting.
It literally breaks my heart
To know that the hope
Which filled her on that day,
So many years later,
Escaped her.
But,
Tell my story,
She said.
If it will make a difference,
She said.
If it will help someone,
She said.
And so,
I have.
And I will.
And you,
Beloveds,
Whoever you are,
And whatever is happening
In your life
As you read this missive,
You matter.
Your story matters.
You are important.
You are precious,
And valued,
And important,
And loved.
Life can be hard.
It often doesn’t make sense.
Hope can be elusive –
But help is available.
Help.
Is.
Available.
The Suicide & Crisis Lifeline –
Is always available –
24 hours a day.
Seven days a week –
With free and confidential support.
Don’t hesitate to use it.
There is no shame is reaching out.
A listening ear will greet you on the other end of the line.
That’s a promise.
And if you
Are wondering what you
Or your Church
Can do,
How you can help
Someone who is struggling –
Has a host of resources
To assist you in playing a part
In the emotional well-being
Of one another.
Bearing one another’s burdens is,
Afterall,
Part of our vocation,
Our call
As followers of Jesus.
Tell my story,
She said.
It is my prayer,
That in telling my friend’s story,
Someone else’s story
Just might be renewed in
Hope.
May it be so.
