Friends, my heart is broken today.
On Tuesday, February 17, a friend of mine since elementary school decided this world would be better off without him. Exactly one month earlier, a college friend of mine made the same choice. The first blow hit me hard; the second one broke my heart.
My friend Stephen was one of those rare creatives whose gifts were unmistakable at a young age. The depth of his creativity was incomprehensible to someone like me who struggles to force words onto a page and can’t even draw a stick figure well. He drew pictures for all of us when we were kids, and he illustrated children’s books for our kids as we grew older. More recently, his Facebook feed contained images of other creations – he crafted everything from wood carvings to gourmet meals.
But Stephen wasn’t just talented. He was brilliant, and considerate, and honorable, and witty. When we were high school seniors, he sat in front of me in English and spent every class period making jokes over his shoulder to make me laugh – I doubt most people knew he was speaking at all. His sense of humor was deep and clever, not superficial or conspicuous. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself; he only wanted to make me laugh.
After college, we found ourselves in the same city, and that’s when I got to know him best. We did things most 20-somethings our age weren’t doing, like renting a VHS of Lawrence of Arabia on the weekend when most people would have been out and about. We went to see Schindler’s List together, and I still remember so many years later how much it moved both of us. After I married Mr. Andi, we grew apart, though we were still in touch occasionally through Facebook (he loved to torment us all by scanning old yearbook photos, posting them on his wall, and tagging us mercilessly, LOL!)
I don’t know why Stephen did what he did. I have been told that he was recently diagnosed with MS, and that scenario makes sense to me. Stephen did for others, not for himself, and I can imagine him mulling over his options and choosing the one he felt would be best for his loved ones. But he also may have felt afraid, or alone, or desperate. I suspect it was a combination of all or some of the above. I’ll never know.
So I am heartbroken today, as are all of us who loved Stephen.
Lately, I feel like my eyes have been opened to how much brokenness is around us every day. So many of us are just doing our best to hold it all together, to love and be loved, and to find meaning in what sometimes feels like an unending journey of the mundane. Even when we are able to see past our small circle to the pain and suffering that other people are going through, we don’t always have the energy ourselves to reach out and say I SEE YOU and YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Today, I want every one of you out there who are hurting, or struggling, or feel alone or desperate, every one of you who looks around and sees only closed doors with no way out, every one of you who feels like you aren’t making a difference in the world to know this:
You are not alone.
You are making a difference.
You are important.
You are loved.
Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta once said, “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.” I’m not one to argue with a woman who’ll likely be canonized a saint, but I would like to paraphrase her in my own way: The small things that we do with great love are great things.
What a wonderful reflection. Stephen was such a great friend to us all. I saw him recently and he was so kind and thoughtful. I agree that he saw his diagnoses as a burden to others and probably felt all alone at the same time. I live with chronic pain and have very low days often and feel like I’m a burden to my family and friends and sometimes don’t feel like I have friends- which I know better. But I wish I had been more of friend to Stephen lately, probably wouldn’t of changed the outcome. I think he also put on a good front to everyone and most didn’t know he fought his demons of depression most his life.
Thank you for sharing this and I am heartbroken as well.
Tiffany
Yes, Tiffany, he did. I never saw it when we were growing up, but when we spent more one-on-one time together after college it was apparent to me – and easy to see that he had always been that way.
Well said and what a wonderful photo of you guys. I remember sitting next to Stephen and marveling over his drawing ability. And then marveling even more over his patience and kindness.
Unfortunately, I did not know Stephen as well as many others, but, I admired him for his artistic ability. Something I wish I had. He could make a picture come to life. It seems that, the older we get, the more we cherish the years gone by. When I heard the news of his passing, it was shocking. My son deals with depression on a daily basis and it is horrible to watch. I pray that God wraps his arms around each and everyone that has this disease and their families and holds them so close.
I have Pikker McClikker on my book shelf as Stephen and I went to the same college. So sorry to hear this. I recognized the illustration immediately. So sorry!
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing your thoughts and memories. I will always remember his smile.
Wow. Andi, I am so deeply sorry. I don’t even have the words, but thank you for doing what you can to turn pain in to progress by spreading love, community, and light.