I prayed for someone today. A woman I do not know, nor would I recognize if we met on the street.Her heart is, I am sure, hurting today, as she remembers her 19 year old son who died twenty years ago this morning. I didn’t know him either. Our paths were not meant to cross ~ but I grieved his loss and anguished (as much as a stranger could) over the decision he had made to end his young life.
I speak often of the genetic gift I was given, of my mother’s work ethic. There are times I appreciate that trait and other times I detest it. Not as often (and this may be a surprise to some of you) I exhibit my father’s gift of exceptional recollection ...especially dates. I can’t remember all dates by any means ~ but there are those branded into my being, as is September 8, 1994.
I had a cooking project to tend to before going to work that day. It was a labor of love and I left home for work a few minutes late, feeling both happy and accomplished. My morning devotion (from Our Daily Bread) had been from the book of Joshua and I sang a familiar praise chorus to myself while I cooked. “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous, do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).
Upon arriving at work (5 minutes late for me, but 25 minutes earlier than most people) - I noticed two cars in the parking lot. One belonged to another early arrival - and the other, I didn’t recognize. There appeared to be an occupant in that car and it was pulled into the parking space in such a way, that the back portion extended into another space, my space to be exact, where I parked daily.
I turned my car at a right angle so I could back into the space next to my space. I contemplated if I should say something to the fellow inside the car, like “Excuse me, but this is a permit only parking lot - you’ll need to move your car before 8:00.”
As I shut off my car, I noticed that the man’s eyes were closed - perhaps he was sleeping? Maybe I should slam my door as I get out - maybe he’ll wake up. But he didn't wake up. He wasn't sleeping. As I walked up to the driver’s locked door and looked in the window, it was very apparent that the young man was dead. Again, if you know me, you know I don’t do blood. I put my fingers in my ears and ‘la la la’ when people talk about graphic injuries. I have fainted, puked, and put my head between my knees in response to traumatic wounds. I’ve watched movies through my fingers, covering my eyes and have left theaters when the violence went beyond my ability to deal with it.
But there I was. The following ten or fifteen minutes were somewhat surreal but I have near perfect recall of those moments. I called for help. I waited for the first responders to arrive. I cringed as I saw emergency vehicles drive by my parking lot, opting for the main entrance to campus and then a few minutes later, I saw a fire truck and other emergency vehicles coming toward me, driving across the lawn right between two academic buildings. The emergency personnel took charge and proceeded to do what they were trained to do. I was eventually excused to go to my office.
That day held me captive for some time. I wanted answers. What possessed him to do this? Why did I have to find him? What if I hadn’t been late? (He was not there when the other early arriver had gotten to the parking lot a few minutes before I should have arrived.) What deeper meaning was I to find through this experience? How do I wrap these thoughts up neatly and put them away in the recesses of my mind so as not to be consumed by them? How did I get through those excruciating minutes without freaking, fainting or puking?
There were no answers. I was able to obtain a copy of the obituary, which included a picture of a handsome young man. It is that photo I allow myself to think of, when I recall that day. I am content to know there was probably nothing I could have done to change what happened. If I had been on time, he would have likely chosen another location. I was not a part of his plan - merely a participant in another person’s nightmare. I am grateful his mother was not the one to find him. As a mother myself - I could not imagine her pain or the images she would never be able to dispel from her mind. It was four days after the incident, while getting ready for church - that I remembered, in greater detail, the previous Thursday morning, before I had gone to work. For the first time, I recalled the Daily Bread devotion, the Bible verse I had sung and the few minutes I had spent with God, on a very busy morning. I marveled: “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified, do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you, wherever you may go” (Joshua 1:9) And He most certainly had been.
FaceBook Note 9/8/2014
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