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.

988 –

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 –

988 –

The Suicide & Crisis Lifeline 

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.