Sadness: On (not) Smiling Through Tears

Ever since Steve and I have moved here to Georgia, and been attending Sherwood Baptist Church, we've made up a fun game of nicknaming choir members. We have a HUGE choir here, and they're quite good, and Steve and I enjoy picking out members who remind us of someone and giving them names. Yoda-toad, Ray Romano, Uncle Rico....we have lots. One of our first Sundays here, a man came up to sing a solo with the choir and when he opened his mouth, a strong and beautiful voice burst forth and nearly blew us away. He was our first nickname - and we coined him Pavarati. His voice was huge, his execution flawless, the sound that poured from his mouth was intoxicating.

Later on we learned that he was the parent of Sherwood students - Steve teaches 2 of his daughters, they have a 4th grade son. His wife does the logo application on my team's jerseys. They are active in the school - booster club members, active church members, the perfect family. Or so everyone thought.

Yesterday, "Pavarati" was found dead in a rental truck, in a fast food parking lot. Suicide.

And even though I didn't really know him, had only met him once, have had a few brief encounters with his wife, I feel very, very sad. There's a dark cloud hovering over our house, our school, our church. I feel as though I've been punched in the gut, and if *I* feel that way, as a virtual stranger, I can't even imagine the heartache of his daughters, his son, his wife - it's unfathomable.

I've been thinking about it a lot. His last moments...the incredible agony that a person must be feeling to think that there's no other solution than to end your own life. I imagine him sitting in that truck, thinking, contemplating, resolving, resigning, ending it. And I wish I could have been there. That anyone could have been there. To have randomly walked by at that moment, to sit in that truck with him, and hold his hand, and say, "hey, it's not that bad. Nothing is that bad. You can make it through this and I will help. We will help. We will love you. No matter where you've been or what you've done, We. Will. Love. You". And yet, he felt as though there was no other way out. That he was unworthy of living life any longer. And so he left behind his family. His young children. The Perfect Family. They have it all. Or at least they have to pretend that they do.

Last night at the school, after the news had leaked out - I passed one of our volleyball players parents, and our friend, Amy. And as I looked into her eyes, and saw that she had been crying, I gave her a sad half-smile, which she returned. And later I wondered, why would I do that? Why do we (especially as Christians) feel the need to smile, even in the midst of extreme sadness? Why do we feel the need to put on a brave face, smile to the world, give the impression that "hey, I'm fine over here! I've got it all together! No need to see the innermost parts of me!" Why is it taboo to be vulnerable with other people? Why is taboo to make mistakes, to screw up, and actually think that others won't judge you for what you've done? For who you are? To be HUMAN? Why is there always the facade of perfection? Why do we exude it? Why do we demand it from others?

How are you?
I'm fine.
NO!

How about
How are you?
Not good.
My life is a mess.
I'm sad.
I'm infertile.
I'm going through a divorce.
I hate my parents.
My brother has cancer.
We just declared bankruptcy.
My wife cheated on me.
My child has autism.
I think my kid is snorting cocaine.
We just had a miscarriage. Again.
And it's not ok.
I'm in a dark place.
I'm depressed.

I'm thinking of killing myself.

Wait. Stop. Don't.
I love you. We can get you through this.

The air around here is thick. With Sadness.
It's Pervasive. And Hovering.
*sigh*

I don't usually say things like this, at the risk of sounding trite, but if you think of it today, say a prayer for this family.