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| Photo by Andre Benz on Unsplash |
This morning's wakeup call came as I was drowsily scrolling Instagram and planning a grocery run. It was a huge shock when Pete informed me of the death of one of my young co-workers. Stuart was playing volleyball last night when he suddenly collapsed. They tried to revive him on the court, then EMS and the ER doctors and nurses took over, but their attempts were futile; they could not restart his heart. Stuart was a tall drink of water, physically fit, active, (he rode his bike to work every day!) he ate clean, and took good care of himself. He loved playing on his frisbee golf team, he enjoyed long runs, and he really liked both hot and iced tea, like, A LOT. Most importantly he was one of the kindest guys you could ever meet. He possessed a deep faith and depth of character that are rare in this world. I remember him asking me about a retreat I attended and how surprised I was that he had read books by the speaker. We just had a conversation yesterday and he was looking forward to the weekend.
Tears filled my eyes at yet another inexplicable
loss, and at how devastated I know his family is, especially his twin brother.
My heart aches for them. Young deaths are especially difficult to navigate but
remind us that death is the great equalizer and it comes for all of us, even
when we are young and healthy.
I have been quiet and moody all day,
contemplating how loss scars us; feeling the accumulation of it in my own life,
and understanding that the more of it I experience the harder I must fight for
hope and peace. This living and dying business leaves none of us unscathed. It
forces us to acknowledge how little control we have over anyone's mortality,
especially our own. If dying is truly part of living, then the only things that
really matter are living and loving well.
Life is so short, and to be raw and honest, I do
not really understand the point. God makes decisions that confound me and leave
a bitter taste in my mouth. Ultimately, I quiet down and try to trust Him, but
it is getting harder and harder. Monday will be terrible. Walking in and
seeing his empty cubicle. Watching my coworkers, all but three younger than I,
grapple with grief. Offering comfort where I can, being a sounding board for
those who need to talk (that role seems to find me wherever I go...) guiding
them through with all the love, hope, and encouragement I can muster while I
struggle to understand any of it.
If you think about it, say a prayer for our small team. We only have twenty-nine employees total, with twenty-two in the
San Antonio office. We are tightknit, and I know how hard this will hit
everyone. And most certainly say a prayer for his parents, siblings, and
friends. Everyone who witnessed last night will struggle for a long time, and
his family will feel his loss until they meet again.
It looks like a long, sleepless night is in store for me as I think about why
