The End of Spring

Yesterday was my youngest son's 15th birthday. He's a gentle giant, over six feet tall, self-nicknamed "Ginger," with his curly red hair, a kind, thoughtful reader, video-game player, and loving uncle.

It should have been a happy day, but when he called to be picked up early from school, he was staring straight ahead, disoriented. He'd received the tragic news that shook our community of friends to the roots yesterday morning -- one of the small circle of boys he'd grown up with, gone to school with from kindergarten through 8th grade, had shared play dates and overnights with forever, was gone.

Suicide at age 14. This loss is incomprehensible. For his loving parents, a pain that will never go away. For all of us who loved him, questions that won't be answered.

The children knew, one by one by one, faster than a hurricane blows. The remaining blossoms on the trees fell quickly to earth. The wind itself finally, came to a stop. All was silence.

I tried to comfort my son. He wouldn't eat, he said he didn't want to see anyone. But he did start texting, and once that started, he and the others began to gather in virtual space. Then, later, together, at a mutual friend's house, the kids came from all over the city.

Eventually, a page went up on Facebook. Hundreds and hundreds of kids posted messages to their departed friend. In their own way, both together physically and virtually, these children began their mourning process together.

We decided to go forward with the family birthday party at my son's favorite restaurant in Japantown. Every now and again, he displayed much more emotion than is usual for him -- breaking into a kind of nervous laughter than resembled crying -- "This is a really bad day."

Afterward, back home, his big brother took him under wing. "Hey, let's go for a walk." I watched the two tall redheads walk away into the night, teens out into the hazards of a big city, with drugs, violence, and broken hearts all around. But also hope, promise, and the best yet to come.

The future.

They'd lost a friend; we all have. The young man who took his life was an amazing human being; someone who could literally have been anything he desired. His charisma at an early age touched all who knew him.

But he is gone. His parents are left with the ineffable. No words can be spoken. As a 16-year-old walked with slightly younger brother, through the night air, a small crescent of moon illuminated their way and kept them safe, while I waited alone at home for their return.

As powerless as only a parent can be.

They came back. "Sorry to keep you up, Dad,"

"It's okay."

It will always be okay. Just keep coming back to me. May the future be yours to know. May the past be mine to forget.

-30-