last week, a young man in his 20s, let’s call him john, ended his life. he had struggled with depression for quite a while and just couldn’t take the pain of his life anymore. he swallowed the pills he had hoarded over a few months, and then he left us.
there was a memorial service. they talked about how much he had loved his cat; how close he had been to his friend, mark; how much his job had meant to him; and joked that he’s probably in heaven now, playing cards with st. peter.
the problem —
john liked his cat, but he adored his two horses, which were never mentioned. he had stopped talking to mark a year ago. he hated his job. he had turned his back to the church, and he was passionately opposed to gambling, which is why he never played cards. nobody talked about the fact that he was a talented, aspiring artist.
what had happened?
did the people who organized his memorial service really know john?
what would it have been like for john to truly be known by more than just a handful of friends? would it have made a difference?
i honestly don’t know.
but i ask: who do we have in our lives? do we know who they truly are? do we care? do we show we care?
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