I lost my niece today to suicide, so much devastation left behind. A brother now missing a familial appendage – a link to all things joyful and crass, funny and sad, annoying and embracing. Parents now missing a link to their future – a place for legacy and on-going laughter. A most profound loss of coming hugs and kisses, of stories around the dinner table, of nurturing and encouraging through struggles and cheering success: gone in a moment bereft of hope.
She was a small package of boundless energy, yes distractions and troubles too, but she was beautiful. A joy to see and hear on the other end of the phone or in some random zoom screen. She could paint and draw and tumble and leap. When we could be in person she was an enthusiastic hug and a great giggle. She was inked like me and felt the world like me. But she was gone in a moment bereft of hope.
She passed her sorrow on to those left behind; a gift I am certain she did not consider giving in that moment. In that darkness when she must’ve felt so alone, while so many of her life’s links were a mere breath away, she could not breathe out and ask for help. She could not breathe in life’s pulse. She could not seek a hand to hold, an arm to curl into, she could only see a world bereft of hope.
It is a small nugget - hope. In this torturous year spent locked inside, without many living connections we have all been trapped by our own feelings. It doesn’t take much to sustain us through pain or sorrow. A small nugget needs nurturing. It requires some sunlight and water to grow. It needs assistance to root in and flourish. I am struck how much it is like an iris beneath the hard and frosted earth. It is kept from burst by the freeze. With any small amount of thaw and despite a covering of snow it will appear, just given the chance. Under the frosted soil it waits. It must have some sense its time will come, though it does not know when. It only readies itself. Maybe that is the spark. It spends time preparing – “I can’t go yet, but I will be ready when I can.”
But if you believe the soil will never thaw. If you see no chance to show your colors or poke through to the nurture of sunlight. What must the wait feel like? Is there any lesson for those of us who still stroll in the light, who still feel the rain on our faces? Should we even try to make a lesson of such a loss?
I know love is not an answer for she was loved. I know friends and family are not answers, she had those in bounty. I know hope is not an answer as she lacked it and could not find it in that single moment of choice. Perhaps it is in the life of the iris we find a way – be always preparing for the thaw. Find solace in the preparation. Find courage in the preparation. Find hope in the preparation. The thaw will come when it does. It is inevitable even while it is unpredictable. Recognize its inevitability. Be always making ready; that is your hope.