I have a hard time dealing with "communal grief." Or maybe "community grief" is a better way to describe it. It's almost the same thing you get when a celebrity dies- an outpouring of love and affection from a multitude of people who, in most cases, knew nothing whatsoever about the deceased.
A boy from Rentz was found dead today. He was fishing early Saturday morning and fell out of the boat he was in with a friend. Apparently he had some sort of seizure or episode that led to him falling out of the boat- of course, as is frequently the case in times like this, that could be a creation of the gossip grapevine. On the other hand, one would think if he was sober, healthy, and conscious, he'd have likely managed to get either to the shore or at least back to the boat. At any rate, I wasn't there and will likely never know what actually occurred as the news tends not to get too detailed in cases like this out of respect for the family. I'm sure I'll hear a thousand different stories over the next few days, but who knows what to believe, right?
At any rate, I started thinking Saturday about how weird it was to be having a perfectly normal day when just a few miles away, a family was likely in a blind panic over where their son was. It's sort of the reverse of what you feel when you lose someone- you can't understand how everything just keeps going when it feels like the world's over, or at least irreversibly changed for the worse. I just thought "How can I go on like this, when other people are suffering so much?"
But the truth is, you have to. I can't swim, I can't dive, I don't even have a boat. There was nothing I could do for the boy or his family except to pray- so I prayed. And then I went on with my day. I finally realized if you let every single sadness that every family experiences get to you, you'll go crazy. On the other hand, I can't say I wasn't heartbroken when they found his body. I'm a realist, and I always have been- maybe a little too much, at times. But I couldn't help to cling to that tiny shred of hope that he'd somehow be found alive. I went through the same thing when a lady I worked with lost her son in a drowning accident on Lake Sinclair a few years back. I took it a little personally, in a way I can't quite describe. I guess just hearing people talk about someone in the past tense when there is still a possibility they're alive doesn't seem right- like if enough people believe someone will survive, if enough people don't give up hope, maybe some collective positive energy can will someone to live. Which really sounds a little new-age, I suppose. But it seems much better than writing someone off after some unspecified moment. At what point do you change from "He may still be alive!" to "Well, he's probably dead"?
The truth is, I didn't know the boy- didn't know if he was a fighter, if he was a good kid or a future inmate. And I still don't. I know of his parents. I've spoken to his mother a multitude of times where she works at Rentz City Hall as I was dropping off my mother's perpetually overdue water bill. She's a nice lady- upbeat and never seemed to mind the late bill. Apparently the boy used to work at the grocery store here, so I've certainly seen him around, but he apparently didn't stand out in my mind. In fact, when I heard a boy who worked at Garry's Grocery was missing, I was picturing a completely different person. (Glad I saw a picture, as I'd have probably been a little freaked out if I saw the other boy, thinking it was him.)
The truth is, when I heard he was dead- and for some reason, not until then, I had to find out more about him. I can't explain the psychology behind this, but I searched for mentions of him on Twitter, looked up his profile on Facebook, read all the news articles I hadn't been reading (because the small-town grapevine was keeping me just as well informed as the press was). I don't know if this was some superstitious way of keeping the status-quo in hopes that he'd somehow be found alive. I don't know if it was some subconscious way to justify the grief I felt or if it was something more akin to what the song "Dirty Laundry" suggests- "It's interesting when people die." And that's where my problem with it all begins.
All the news articles, the multitude of posts on his Facebook wall, the mentions on Twitter (there aren't many) suggest he was a good kid who loved hunting and fishing. He appears to have been relatively well liked and popular if his Facebook photos are any indication- lots of friends, mostly other "country" types. Not necessarily "my kind" of people, but not bad people. My mind says "At least he died doing something he loved!" and then another part of my mind says, "But maybe he'd have never fished again if he'd known it would save his life?" He was just a few months from graduating, had probably just attended his senior prom, was probably mapping out his future in one way or another- it doesn't seem fair that it was all gone in a second. For some reason, to me, when a teenager or young adult dies, it's sadder even than when a child or baby dies. In terms of potential, there's so much more there- the glimmer of "what might have been" is much clearer. Admittedly, life never really works out the way we think it will in high school, but there's still so much possibility.
In its place now, there are a hundred Facebook posts. A memorial Facebook group that, in two years time, will never have another post. There will inevitably be stickers praising his memory, passed around amongst family, friends, and eventually mere acquaintances. A yearbook memorial with some poem that's been recycled a hundred times. An honorary diploma at graduation, and hundreds of classmates with tears in their eyes- some of whom probably didn't even like him.
Still, they are entitled to their grief- much more so than I ever will be. Like I said, I didn't even know him. But it seems, so often, that grief, especially amongst younger people, becomes this almost-comic display of one-upmanship. "My grief is bigger than yours, see? I made t-shirts." And I don't understand it. I don't understand those ridiculous #3 stickers in people's back windows, the hundreds of "In Memory Of" window clings that make their way up and down the streets here every day. If you really loved someone, if you really cared... Those things wouldn't mean anything. Your love and memories wouldn't need to be aired in a public forum, for a world of strangers to see. Grief, like love, should be private. I won't say it shouldn't be discussed, amongst people who know that grief themselves, who can fully appreciate what it means. Or amongst people who care about you, and therefore your grief. Still, I can't help feeling this boy's life should be celebrated- not reduced to a bumper sticker and a catchphrase. Not to a roll-call of over-dramatized sentiment on an electronic forum that he will never see. I do believe in heaven, but I don't think the dead are worrying themselves about their Facebook pages anymore. Maybe it's just me.
And maybe it comes off like this is the same thing, but I hope not. I hope it doesn't seem like I'm pretending to have some insurmountable fount of sadness- the situation isn't fair, and I don't know why it ever has to happen, that's all. I would never presume to suggest my grief is important in the face of what those who are close to him are going through, not for a second. If you're reading this and willing, whoever you are, send up a prayer for this boy's family. I'm sure they'll need it not just now, but for months and years to come.