Loss at Home

Shock and heartbreak have again touched our homes as the tragedy at Virginia Tech continues to play out on the news. Adjectives we rarely hear in reference to campus life; “massacre,” “slaughter” and a collection of others more commonly associated with horror films, now top web pages at CNN, MSN and front our daily headlines. Well meaning people are talking and writing about how we all grieve the loss of these young lives, this seeming loss of innocence on a university campus.

Watching the news, reading profiles of the victims, we can’t help but have our hearts go out to these families- only the coldest of individuals could not be moved by the devastation wrought in a matter of seconds… minutes… hours… lifetimes… by this young gunman. It’s enough to make us question our own humanity and value system as a people- and we should. This culture of death, violence and corruption is quickly who we’re becoming. This is “us.” We can’t escape the unwanted glare of the spotlight down this dark alley of neglect we’re so quickly accepting as another facet of our daily news programming. Tragically, with each event, we’re a little less shocked and few solutions are lifted up.

But for dozens of families- most we’ll never meet- many we’ll only see a picture of on TV or hear an uncle or aunt interviewed as the only willing participant in the media coverage, they truly grieve… life will never be the same. The deepest investment of their heart- the reason for their home and so many late nights at work- the child they coached and encouraged through dreams that were always looking forward… “You can do it son.” “Just stick with it sweetheart.” “We’re so proud of you.” Have come to an unwanted end and won’t be coming home after this semester. When the murdered and wounded of Virginia Tech fall off our “news cycle” like Columbine did, like the killing of the little Amish children did, there will still be an empty bedroom, t-ball trophies on the wall, unfulfilled dreams and clothes in the closet for families of each individual killed.

These families grieve. We sit in the shadow of their grief and in our best moments, pray for their comfort- wish there was more we could do… and more often, embrace our own children, with a phone call- or, if we’re close enough, hug them tightly –maybe buy them lunch, and silently thank God they were spared… whisper a plea for continued protection over them… this is how it should be… this is not grieving.

Both of our children went away to college and lived in dorms. Both of our kids returned- like the great majority of young adults do –safe, forever changed by college life – never the same little boy or girl we sent off to college –but safe. I’ll never forget the tears we shed or the moment we said “goodbye.” It was like confronting an unexpected sadness that we couldn’t shake for weeks.

Our daughter went to a state university: we’d gone to the parent days and walked through each step of the assimilation process with her- but she was our first born- first out of the house, I was devastated. I’d unwisely promised to keep a church obligation later the same evening, leaving my wife to finish the final hours with her at the dorm after we’d kissed, cried and said goodbye… I felt like such a big baby. That night, people moved around me, talked, asked me questions and I responded like a man in a trance- my heart, my mind, “I” was someplace else. For weeks, I’d walk by her empty bedroom, sometimes sit on the edge of her bed… heck, sometimes, if no one was around, I’d throw myself across it and weep openly.

My daughter wasn’t brutally and unexpectedly murdered- she was just growing up –and I couldn’t deal with it. I felt like no one knew my pain…

Our son went to a private Christian university that offered an entire weekend for mom and dad to take a bath in letting go of their kid. Having been down the road once- knowing fully how much it hurt –we jumped in with both feet and sought all the help they offered. It was good. I was smart enough not to schedule a thing for days around the big goodbye- I’d learned. Even still, when they sent “the kids” off to the dorms after a worship service together and a few final moments to say goodbye… my wife and I found a bench on that little campus, held each other as tightly as we could and cried our hearts out. Our little boy was “grown up” and moving away to college… hours away. Even watching other parents go through the same ritual, we felt uniquely alone, surely no one could know our pain at letting go… our joy, our pride.

Our son didn’t have his life shattered by a gunshot, his dreams ended by a young man he’d never even met. He was doing what every parent prays and works for their children to do- living out his dream- growing up. We were still ill prepared to confront the moment.

The families of the dead wake this morning with no hope of graduation. Loved ones murdered: today their hopes are in Heaven. The tears they shed are not those of a mom or dad learning how to let go of a growing child- they’ve done that. They now grieve the ultimate loss… their children will never come home. Their only hope of reunion is in The Lord. Like King David and every other parent forced to release a child to death too soon, they’re invited to embrace The Hope of our future Homecoming. The trance they walked the night their daughter moved out- now an attractive memory. The final embrace as their son walked to a new dorm- a precious part of letting go they hope never to lose.

Grief: it touches us all. Love is always tempered by the reality of life and death. Carol Kent, in her book on loss: When I Lay My Isaac Down, openly discusses the pain and suffering that comes with the midnight call every parent dreads. The loss of hope when a child- in her case –a son, who was president of the National Honor Society, a graduate of Annapolis and just beginning the joy of family life and career when they received the call that shattered everything; death… gunfire… murder in a random parking lot. Unbelievable tragedy, an entire gun emptied into the back- instant death –so many lives changed forever. Their son, their only son, who’d given them so much promise, joy, hope… had been a valuable reason for living… was now a murderer. Life would never be the same for two families. One man would never breathe again.

How does one continue? She tells the story of Abraham and his faith in giving his son Isaac back to God. She recounts how she day by day, is able to face her new reality, the mother of a murderer… now living behind bars for life. Reading the book this week I couldn’t help but think of the families of the Virginia Tech students and professors as they each in their own ways, in the ways families always have, try to survive this darkness and find reason to live. We all pray they experience comfort and grace beyond any they’ve ever imagined in the days and years to come. Each of us must ask ourselves: “How do we continue?” The temptation is to pray for something to take the spotlight off of this dark moment… but that won’t change the path we’re on.

The families who’ve lost a loved one this week will never be the same- and they know it- we all know it. American society will also never be the same… we just don’t know it yet. How many mass killings will it require until we’re ready for change? Our children pay the price. Until then, we lay our “Isaac’s” down at the altar of an uncertain world.

Talk with your family about the tragedy in Virginia. Give your friends and loved ones the opportunity to vent their fears, pain and grief – it’s the least we can do. Pray for those who are directly impacted, who’ve lost loved ones, who are in positions of authority and now seek a solution. Turn to The Father. His Heart breaks. He holds The Solution to our heart break today. We can trust Him. May He richly surround those in loss and suffering just now with The Fullness of His Mercy, Comfort and Healing Grace in this time of deep loss and death.

Blessings,

Eric