But now I'm not so sure. Yes, good things can come out of bad circumstances. And if I'm going to be consistent in my beliefs, I have to say that I think that "all things work together for good to those who love God." But that doesn't mean that everything happens for a reason. Sometimes things are senselessly horrible. Sometimes terrible, awful things happen and there is nothing that anyone can say to make it make sense. You can feed me platitudes, and you can repeat words of meaningless comfort and stroke my hair and hand me tissues, but you can't make things make sense.
Yesterday, I had my first real brush with an unexpected death. When my Poppy died, it wasn't a surprise. Even my not-quite-ten-year-old brain and heart saw it coming and was prepared. He had been ill, it was logical. When Papa died, it was shocking, but in retrospect, not that surprising--he was a cowardly man and suicide is often the route taken by weak men when confronted with serious failings. When Great Grammy died, it was a relief--she had been so absent for so long, her mind so ruined by Alzheimer's that she didn't know who we were anymore. But this death was unexpected. This death was a surprise. This death was a sucker punch. My brother's best friend from elementary school was found dead yesterday morning. The details are still foggy, and the rumors abound (unfortunately too easily believable). Yes, kids died when I was in high school. In fact, I had even met one of them. But I didn't KNOW any of them. It was more abstractly sad for me. I hadn't sat next to their mothers at games. I hadn't driven them home after school. They weren't in my kitchen when I woke up most Saturday mornings from 2003-2006. It was sad, and I did cry. But it wasn't really "real." This boy, this death, it's real. It hit far too close to home.
We got the news in the middle of the Apple store. I was literally explaining to my brother the amazingness of the Grocery IQ app when he got a call from his current best friend, asking if he had heard the news. As his eyes widened and his jaw dropped, I could tell that something wasn't right, but I didn't imagine anything that wrong could have happened. He ended the call, sat down on a stool, and said simply, "Kiefer died." Astonished, I asked if he was sure. It couldn't be true--his friend was a healthy 17-year-old. Healthy 17-year-olds don't just drop dead. We left the store to tell our parents and immediately tears sprang to my mother's eyes. My generally upbeat, stoic, macho brother then began to cry. My family was in shock, so I suggested that we leave the middle of the mall. Somehow the view of New York and Co. was just not what I wanted to be looking at while I processed my grief as people and shopping bags jostled me around. And as I walked out, making calls to people at church, people who could comfort the family, it struck me. The world was still turning. People were driving, people were shopping, people were working. A family's world was shattered, and the world kept turning. I just wanted everyone to STOP for just a moment, and appreciate the fact that nothing would ever be the same again. As I considered the way the family felt--the mother who lost her child, the boy who lost his older brother, my heart stopped beating. I couldn't imagine the way it would feel to lose my brother. Sure, we fight. And I tell him I hate him and want to kill him all the time, but that's simply not true. I love him. I can't imagine a life without him--and I even knew a life without him. Kiefer's brother was younger--he had never known a world without Kiefer in it.
And I guess that's part of why I'm having such a hard time. Because I would never want to know that feeling, to know a world with my brother no longer in it. I tell him he's not allowed to "bat out of order" all of the time--usually I mean he's not allowed to get married or have kids before I do. My five extra years of life should give me some sort of batting order bump. But it also goes for dying--he's not allowed to die first. I'm older, it should be my turn first. It's selfish, I know, but I don't want to experience that grief.
The other part of the difficulty is the fact that he was just a boy. If the rumors are true, and he did cause his own death (whether by accident or intent), it still isn't fair. He was just a boy. Mistakes made as a child shouldn't be that bad. Children should get a chance to try again. Children should get a Mulligan. Children shouldn't know what it's like to bury one of their own. Children aren't cognitively able to handle themselves--if he did have an accidental hand in it, he probably didn't realize the gravity of what he was getting himself into. If he had an intentional hand in it, he certainly didn't realize the fact that it gets better. Life isn't the same as it was at 17, I promise. His friends, they aren't ready to deal with this grief. The parts of our brains that process these decisions and these consequences, they aren't even done developing until we're in our mid-20s. He was just a boy, and I would do anything to be able to give him a second chance at becoming a man.
So, no, I no longer believe that there's a reason for everything. Sometimes, these things just happen. All we can do is hope that God keeps His promise, and that somehow, he can make it all turn out ok, even if I can't see how it's possible.
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