Bittersweet Symphony

Today is one of those bittersweet days. Today is Wartburg College's annual day of giving UKnight Day. It's a day to give back to a place that is so important for many people. A day to reflect about why Wartburg is such a special place for people. 

Since AJ passed five years ago, I've used UKnight Day to give back to the place that brought us together in his memory. UKnight Day always falls right around AJ's birthday, so each year I give the amount of how old AJ should be turning that year. It's bittersweet. 

AJ and I met at Wartburg. We both sang in the Warburg Choir. It was on a choir tour trip to Prague where we first got to know each other but nine months later before we started dating, shortly after some choir bonding. We got engaged in Venice while on another choir tour trip. Music was the thing that connected AJ and I. 

AJ was studying to become a music teacher. Music was his passion. Teaching was his passion. And he was so damn good at it. He just had that spark that drew people close to him. We often joked that he was so good at teaching to kids because really he was just a "big kid" himself. But he found ways to connect with his students. He made them fall in love with music the way he once had. I 100% believe that AJ's purpose in life was to teach music. 

So when the mental health struggles, the addiction and eventually the decision to end his own life happened, a part of what I mourned was the lost of AJ's purpose. I mourned the lost of his potential. Because AJ had it. He had what one needed to become great. And he would have been - he would have been so great. He would have done so much. I was always able to see more about AJ's future career path than even my own. And so I mourn for the career AJ should have had. Even during his short time teaching, he touched so many lives. I mourn for the lives that he should have touched, the lives he should have changed. 

I follow the Wartburg College Choirs Facebook page. I like staying connected to this amazing group that brought me to AJ. I love to see the new adventures they get to embark on, while fondly remembering my own choir adventures. But sometimes, seeing certain posts also makes me feel resentful. I see posts celebrating collaboration between the Wartburg Choir and various high school choirs from around the state of Iowa and I can't help but think, AJ should be here doing that. He should be bringing kids to visit Wartburg, to hear the Wartburg Choir, to learn from them. It makes me think about all the amazing things that AJ should have gotten to do during his music career but now will never do. 

When AJ died, former members of the Wartburg Choir came to his funeral service and sang. They sang Amazing Grace and Give Me Jesus. I will never be able to fully articulate just how much that moment meant for me and what I felt during those songs. It was bittersweet. 

After AJ died, his high school classmates raised money to commission a choral musical piece in AJ's memory. The song is called Love Is. The words were written by Brian Newhouse and the music was composed by Connor Koppin. Click here if you want to read a blog post about the piece specifically. 

I am so grateful for this gift because I thought there was no better way to remember AJ than with the gift of music. 

Sometimes I struggle when I think about AJ's legacy. How do I make sure to honor his memory in a way that's worthwhile? How do I help people remember the bright soul and passion AJ had for music and for teaching? How can I help inspire that type of passion in others? How can I share AJ's story to others who are struggling and help them realize that they are loved and they are wanted? 

Selfishly, I want this song to be AJ's legacy. I want this song to reach choirs and audiences across the country, maybe even the world. I want AJ's story inside the front cover as reminder to those who are also struggling that they are loved and ask them to stay. I want it to be a piece that touches the lives of those who hear it. I want it to be a piece that is applauded and recognized for the message it sends to those who are hurting. I want to believe that even after his death, AJ will have an impact in this world. But I have no idea how to make something like that happen. 

So on this UKnight Day, I will hold up my alma mater as this incredibly special place that I still call home. I will remember the lessons I learned, the adventures I took part of and my infinite love of the color orange. I will recognize how this place helped shape me into the person I am today. I will forever treasure the people that I met at Wartburg, some of my most favorite people in this world. And I will be forever grateful for Wartburg and the music that brought AJ and I together. 

'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, that's life. 

The Burden of Questions

Trigger Warning: Suicide 

During Lent, our pastor is doing a sermon series around the theme of "Ask". This week's gospel came from John 9:1-41. Jesus heals the sight of a blind man and the reading is filled with a variety of questions and people wanting answers.

Tonight's reflection got me thinking about the burden of questions. 

I am no stranger to questions. I'm very familiar with questions. In fact, I think I've become even more familiar with questions since Jacob was old enough to talk. Because since he was old enough to talk, he's been asking questions. Questions about everything, non-stop questioning, questions that I definitely don't have the answers for. In truth, there is something amazing about the innocence of a child asking questions. 

But aside from Jacob, I often find that I have my own questions. I'll let you in on a little secret... I'm a bit* of an overthinker. (*I will not be defining 'bit') :) When I start to overthink things, I start to question things. I will question everything. 

Was it the right choice to buy a new car right now? Why does my back hurt today? Why did I not wear my winter boots today? Should I pull my money from the banks before they all fail? What should I say to Jacob if he asks me about where babies come from? How did my life end up in the place it is now? Why are people so cruel and hateful? Should I volunteer to chaperone Jacob's class field trip? What would happen if push this project back until tomorrow? How on earth can people possibly vote republican? ;-) You get the idea. 

Questioning so many things becomes exhausting. And because I like to have a certain amount of control over my life, I really appreciate questions where I also get the answers. Even better when they're the answers that I want! 

But life is full of questions and not often any definite answers. And I struggle with that. 

A blog post from six years ago showed up in my Facebook memories today. The Struggles of Addiction in the Family

It's an interesting thing to go back and read old blog posts. But reading this one hit me in an entirely different way. In it, I talked about feelings of wanting to give up. Now, when I read it, I know that it was less than one year from that post that Austin did decide to give up. And there has been no other event in my life that has created so many questions. 

When someone you love dies by suicide, you are left with so many questions. I'm not sure if it makes a difference if that someone leaves a note behind or not. In Austin's case, he left no note, no email, no voicemail. I felt lost in the questions. I struggled with questions I thought I had always known the answers to. 

Why did he give up? What was going on in his mind at that moment? Was there something that happened that made him do this? Was he using? Was he in trouble? What was the amount of pain he must have been feeling? Was he thinking about me and Jacob? Did he think about how his action would affect Jacob and I? Did he think we stopped loving him? Did he know I still loved him? Did he know how many people loved him? Did he understand how much we would miss him? Why did he think it was okay to end his life? Why didn't he ask anyone for help? Why didn't he leave us a note? Why did he leave us? 

The hardest part of these questions is that I will never have an answer. I will never have any sort of answer to the endless questions I have. That leaves a hole inside of you that I don't know how to explain. It makes my grief feel impossible at times. It feels like I will never find true closure. 

But it gets even worse. Because beside my own questions, there are Jacob's questions. Jacob's questions about his dad and why his dad isn't around anymore. And has he gets older, there will only be more questions. 

I am often left questioning how I'm going to answer all of Jacob's questions. I am struggling with the question, "How am I going to tell Jacob about his dad's death?" When is the right time to have that conversation? When is he old enough to understand what suicide means? How much information do I give him? Do I wait for him to ask me questions? Or do I bring it up before he overhears someone talking about it? What do you say to a kid who's dad decided to leave? How do I help him understand the complexity of a situation when I don't even understand it? What are the words I should use? 

I have literally struggled with these questions since Austin's death. I dread the moment the conversation will finally come. And it's coming. It's getting close. I do not feel prepared. I do not know the right way to have this conversation. And I am terrified that I will handle the entire conversation badly and screw up Jacob. If I'm being honest, it's in these moments that I feel my strongest anger towards Austin. For leaving me to deal with this crap. 

I know that for many of life's questions, there is the opportunity to have faith. Faith in God, faith in His plan, faith for His comfort and His love. And most of the time, that is enough. 

But sometimes, like in the case of Austin's suicide, I struggle with faith being enough. There is a heavy burden of questions that I carry about Austin's death. Endless questions. And never an answer.