11. The Roller Coaster, the Park Bench, and Change

The past couple of weeks have been an emotional roller coaster for me. Sometimes I feel like I’ve written my feelings on little pieces of paper, folded them up, and put them all in a big jar; each morning I pull one slip out for that day—or that moment—and I never know what feeling it’s going to be. Happy that my husband spent a week here with me? Sad that he left so soon? Angry, or was it pleased, that he stubbornly refused to stop and drove 19 hours straight from a conference in San Antonio, fueled by truck stop coffee and the promise of sleeping in his own bed? Anxious about selling the house? Frustrated that we can’t get anything done because we have to intermittently grab the dog and jump in the car for a showing? Sad, sad about leaving friends and loved ones, my community, and my house? Excited about building our new house? Worried, worried, about everything, including that I’m starting to stress out so much that I’m forgetting everything, conversations, appointments, names, words….? Anxious and overwhelmed about getting everything done, and wondering if the little blue bill is actually helping? Grateful and happy for friends who help and invite and support and listen? I open my eyes every morning to the sounds of the birds, and though I don’t know what feelings will rush through me that day, I do still hang onto one thing:  hope.

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One week ago today we gathered at West Side Park for the dedication of a park bench in memory of Angelina Bond Klein. Angel was a friend of my son’s, and was his best friend’s girlfriend. One year ago she decided to take her own life, just a few weeks shy of her 14th birthday. On Monday her father, Sebastian, sat on the back of the park bench where Angel’s group of friends often gathered, and told us about the foundation he started—the Angel Forever Foundation—and the training he has since received for suicide prevention in teens. His mission is to help others, whether it be parents, teachers, coaches, or anyone who spends time with teens, to be trained to recognize the signs of a teenager at risk and help prevent it. I learned that suicide is the second most common cause of death in teenagers. Our children are being snatched away at alarming rates.

Suicide is in the news a lot lately. It is increasing in epidemic proportions. I won’t add to the din of media postulations, whether its cause is this or that, a disconnect from society exacerbated by social media, or a general zeitgeist created by overpopulation and the stress of an impossibly fast-paced society, or chemical and biological stressors in our environment, or a loss of empathy and caring connections with our own society. I don’t know why, and I can’t fix the world’s problems, but I do still hang onto one thing:  hope.

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At the park, standing in a loose group with their 14-and-15-year-old awkwardness, their heads down and shoulders slumped, their words a painful mumble, were Angel’s friends. They felt uneasy, they weren’t sure what to do or say, they were tense, they were sad. But they were there. No one forced them to be there, they just knew it was the right thing to do, the right place to be. They are good kids, and they are tomorrow’s grown-ups. And maybe they can spread the empathy and compassion they were showing at that moment.

Looking at those sweet boys and girls, and around me at the oldest and grandest park in the city, I was struck with a realization. I love this place, this community, but it will change. Of the group of kids standing there, four of them are moving away this summer. Those kids will grow up. People change jobs, change friendships, change lovers. People die. People leave, sometimes forever. Buildings are torn down and new ones are built, like my son’s beloved grade school. Favorite haunts go out of business or change hands, favorite places are remodeled or reorganized. For some reason I thought that I would go away, I would leave this place, and it would be some sort of time capsule, a place frozen in time and culture; but the truth is, change happens whether you’re moving or you’re standing still. I can sit on that park bench and take a moment to reflect, but the world will keep moving and changing around me. Knowing that change—the thing I resist more and more as I age—would happen even if I didn’t have to move away is in a bizarre way more comforting. I don’t have control of any of it, so I should just choose to make the best of it, and cling to hope.

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Note:  for more information about the Angel Forever Foundation, please like their Facebook page, linked here:  Angel Forever Foundation, or their webpage, angelforever.org.