Forgiveness is a word people hand you like a pamphlet. They press it into your hands and walk away as if they have done something. They never stay long enough to hear how the word torments a parent who has lost a child.
Caleb spent his first year of college in the dorms. He hated it. As much as we tried to dissuade him, he moved into an apartment with several friends. While a fourth person would change out from time to time, the core group remained together. Like all people living in a shared space, some arguments occurred but they worked things out for three years.
I had no reason to think anything had changed when he texted me that his roommates were terrible. We had just talked a couple of weeks earlier when he was home for my birthday. He talked about the fun things the group had done and were planning. After this text, there was no further communication, again, pretty typical for him to work through things and communicate sporadically.
Four days later he was dead.
We have learned when he sent the text, they had just had an argument. No one told me why, but I’m guessing it was related to the roommates moving out and Caleb was not invited to move with them. He was going to have to find other living arrangements.
Also, the roommates knew something was not right with him those four days. It was not just an argument. My son, the most rational, logical, intelligent person I have ever known. He flipped. I think he had a mental break.
Why did his closest friends not communicate his distress to us? They had our contact information. We had talked with them before. If I had known his perilous state, maybe some intervention could have helped.
So here I stand at the third door. Can I forgive what occurred? Again, I have no idea what really happened. The roommates were not breaking a lease as it was time for its renewal and they are free to choose where they live. They certainly knew something was ‘off’ with Caleb, but did they know enough that one should expect them to call about? I tried gently asking a few times and did not get more than a few words from them. I did not push because I hoped in time they would talk and did not want to alienate them.
Caleb had other friends. Did they know what was happening? Several of them have reached out to say Caleb helped them when they were suicidal and credit him for their life. While I knew he was friends with them, I did not know that part of the story. He was like that, always lifting up those in distress and taking no credit. I used to be angry that he helped others and no one helped him. Not anymore. I love that he helped these people.
I am not angry at his roommates, nor am I with his other friends. But the question of those four days is not the only thing that haunts me. There is also the silence that followed.
They ate meals together, including Friendsgiving. They watched movies, joking and nerding out with him. Three years of stories, more than 5500 hours of fun, and I am not privy to any of it.
It is two weeks before my birthday, the anniversary of the last time I saw him alive, and every year for eight years these events swirl in my thoughts. I run through the scenarios, what-ifs, and wonder if things would be different if I knew I needed to go see him.
I do not know what to forgive because I do not know what happened. There is no emotional target. This is a part of his story that may never be resolved. I’ve not talked to any of these friends of his for seven years. I may never know what transpired those fateful last days, but I hope his roommates or someone would help us understand what Caleb was experiencing, or at least share memories with us. I am trying to learn how to sit with this deep void. Caleb’s friends being silent and people close to us shrinking back makes the hard days so much harder.
Worse, it sometimes feels like he wasn’t loved.
Be First to Comment