"You must look into people as well as at them." Lord Chesterfield
That's the understatement of the week, isn't it?
Let me give a rundown of my week. Monday was ... uneventful, but Lordy Lordy I can't really remember that far back now.
Tuesday, I got to spend QT with Royce at Starbucks. Unbenounced to either of us, we had a funny conversation with our friend R., who shortly after we left, got a phone call to check on his friend Randy. We even talked about Randy. Royce and I... had a blast. I got a gift in a jar, and God knows that I needed that this week more than anything. She is such a blessing. And... we will be doing this again, and more regularly.
Wednesday night at 9, I got the call about my mom and SD. Then I was on the phone with my brother talking about a former HS classmate of my brother's who took her own life. JM and I were talking about how, most of us reach a point where we get desperate, but not that far. We were talking about how drugs affected Celia to the point that she would want to take her own life. Celia was a Tigerette with me. She got into drugs. She's gotten clean but recently got back on them (I've never done drugs so I don't know if that is the proper term), but was presented with the option of either rehab or jail. She told (somebody) that she'd rather die than go back to either place. And in whatever stage of desperation... she took her own life.
At 10:00pm, I got the phone call about Randy.
Sometime in the early hours of Wednesday, this friend took his own life. One of the guys that found him came and hung out with us last night, and answered a lot of our questions.
But there are still a thousand Why's that we can't answer.
Suicide... is not something I enjoy talking about. And yet, in it's own twisted way, suicide is a part of me.
My mother's favorite aunt, who's given name was Virginia, was called Ginny. She loved my mom. My mother is one of four children, and is the only redhead in the bunch. Her brother and sisters all had dark, almost black hair. My poor mom stuck out like a sore thumb when it wasn't cool to be a red-head. But Aunt Ginny had a very special place for my mom and showed her extra love. ... My grandfather and his sister Ginny were the only two children who were able to take care of their mother. My great-grandmother had dimentia and would constantly scream at Ginny that she wasn't good enough and that other children needed to take care of her. Ginny took this to heart too much. While I'm not entirely sure what the last straw was, one day, she cleaned her house, made coffee, made a coffee cake, pushed a chair up to a column in her home, and shot herself. She left a suicide note saying that she couldn't deal with her mother anymore.
Originally, my mom planned to name me Jenny, after this Aunt, but my father changed it when he went to sign my birth certificate. So... long story down... suicide is tied into my name.
I pray that Randy had a moment of clarity when he realized that he couldn't get free, but made sure his soul was right with God. Suicide is one of those things that I can't explain. We don't know if people wind up in Heaven or Hell. We won't know until we get to Heaven, and when we get there -- it won't matter. It's selfish. It's a selfish escape.
My goal from here on is to pray for guidance and wisdome and discernment from the Holy Spirit that I don't have to endure this ever again. I can't solve everybody's problems, but I know who can.
I know the name that saves.
I know the name that heals.
I know the name that restores.
I know the name that renews.
They don't call him Jehovah for nothing.