Thinking of Wes

I was thinking of my son yesterday at lunch time and the sadness that I know was a small part of his day. I was at lunch and like I do many days I stop to check FaceBook to see what is happening while I have been working.

My son had posted a message that morning regarding a young man that had committed suidice recently. He made a simple statement that spoke volumes. "Thinking about Wes." That was all it said. He also posted a video to a song by one of his favorite bands, Hawk Nelson. I tried to watch the video, but it did not play on my phone. So being the fantastically cool mom I am, I checked my ipod and saw that the song was there, so I stopped to listen. Did I mention I was fantastically cool?

As I listened, I was again struck by the sadness of this boys death and the pain that is left in it's wake. The song at one point explodes with rage and sadness as the singer vents his frustrations by yelling his questions of why. It is heart wrenchingly honest. It was also a reminder to me that I had neglected to write. And so that is what I am doing.

The funeral is long past, and it was well attended. Recently though I was went to the school to witness a dedication of a bench in memory of Wes. It was done by a some students and a teacher who had taught him during his time in high school. As I stood there I was encouraged by the words this man spoke. He told us of how he was approached by students wanting to do something, who needed to do something. So together they built the bench. The symbolism they built into the bench was not accidental. From the knots in the wood to the color of the pine, each detail had a message to impart to everyone who would see the bench.

While the bench itself was encouraging, the dedication was somewhat sad. Only a handful of people showed up to see the bench and to hear the words of his teacher, his youth pastor and his mother. Only a few of us heard of the symbolism of the bench that was only made to hold two people. Just enough room for two people to share the the frustrations, fears, and burdens of life. A place where you would not be judged for the words you say, but supported and cared for even if you were not totally understood. That is what the bench is for, a place to be heard and not judged, a place of grace.

I prayed for that bench, not the bench itself, but for the message it contained. You see, I really did not know Wes personally, but he could have been my son. He could have been any of ours. I hope that when my own children come to a time when they need to talk, that there is someone to whom they feel they can talk to. I hope it would be me, but I am too realistic for that. So the message of that bench is important to me. Important as a woman who hopes for the best for the youth in our community, but even more so as a mother who hopes for the best for her sons.