from syd: running the race

I'm posting something here that my son Syd wrote after learning a friend had killed himself. I asked for his permission to post it, as it's pretty personal.  The name of his friend has been changed.

I'm not into talking about theology or politics on social media, but if you have been taught in a church that suicide is an "unforgivable sin" you might want to look at your Bible again.  One of the pastors I trust to share truth is Louie Giglio, and he recently gave a message called "I'm not okay...but Jesus is," regarding mental health and the church's response. You can find it under Passion City Church Podcasts.

Here is Syd's writing.

Isaiah is my friend. We weren’t close, like sit down at lunch and talk close, best friends since elementary school close, but we ran cross country together. Isaiah was an odd duck and that’s why I liked him, with his goofy looking black sideburns, and the fact that he would yell sprinting across the finish line.

My brother holds up his phone screen and asks if I knew him. I say he was my friend. He says he died but he doesn’t know how. I’m shocked. I am with my family and friends so it’s easy to let the thought pass.

It’s after school and in the dark art classroom stands my old English teacher, trying to convince me to play ultimate Frisbee again. He’s a cool dude and I’m trying to think of an excuse to say no when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I can’t remember word for word what Isaiah said to me, it had to do along the lines of how he was going to miss me and me finally graduating and going off to college. What I do remember is that he gave me a serious, uncomfortable look, like he was going to give one of his absurd dramatic speeches that he would give before a race, and said “Don’t change”. I laughed because I thought he was just being goofy self, giving me a classic “don’t change pony boy” moment, but he didn’t let go of my shoulder when I tried laughing him off and told me not to change a second time. I put on a serious face for him and told him I’d try, knowing what he was asking for was impossible. He gave me a hug and told me he really meant it.

Later that night when everyone is asleep, I try to read articles on his death, but cheap pop-up online ads keep covering the small news text. I just want to know how my friend died. After several articles I find two recent ones that say the same thing. “Self-inflicted gunshot wound.” I cried then like I cried tonight.

I have changed. I’d like to think it’s for freedom’s sake, why I broke up with a girl and felt initially relieved by it (yeah I’m still coming back to that), why any relationship I had really, with God and family, with old friends, I decided to ignore for the sake of freedom. Of being independent, and not having to worry about meaning or love. But now I see that that is not freedom. That is running away. That is suicide. Sometimes worry is a form of love.

I stop running at the bridge above a duck pond. I stare down into the night sky. I pound the metal bridge railing with my fists screaming Goddamn at the top of my lungs over and over again. Goddamn Goddamn Goddamn. I tell him I don’t know if he’s listening but I ask anyways why he had to kill himself and that I wish he didn’t.

He doesn’t say anything. I run.

There are moments where Isaiah is running with me, cheering me on, with his fist pumping the air above his head. For what it’s worth man, whenever I run now I’ll think of you. And I’ll ask myself, “have I changed?” I’ll be reminded that I’m only human, and that one day I’ll wake up and my grandfather’s legs won’t work and that one day my father’s legs will stop moving and one day I will no longer be able to run.

But today is not that day. Today I laugh knowing that by the end of this race I too will be sprinting, yelling at the top of my empty lungs. And I too will cross that finish line, but for now, some kid has his hand on my shoulder, telling me not to change.

Rest in Peace friend.