"Shot himself"
Two words from a text that marked the end of a ninth grader's life.
A ninth grader.
Who was probably fifteen.
Emotions rushing in and back and through and out.
Tears flowing freely.
Body heaving, holding my boy. Telling him over and over again how important and special and needed and loved he is.
Reminding him to talk when he hurts.
Speak about his feelings.
Share his heart.
And know that we love him deeply. And how missed he would be if he were to die.
Die.
Two days ago no one knew this would be the date at the end of the dash.
No one knew the long goodbye would be upon them.
It's just not supposed to happen this way.
Too much grief for one family.
For the family of God.
For the school.
Answers to the "why" don't matter right now.
Holding our babies close does.
Telling them of our love and God's love and the Devil's schemes.
Right now is the time.
Tomorrow may be too late.
Rise. Speak. Love.
Conquer the hate with your actions.
Demolish the evil voices with your own.
Teach. Listen. Teach more. Pray. Repeat.
Text "I love you" more frequently.
Speak of "God loves you" with even more frequency.
Overcome this world's message "You aren't important or needed or loved".
Today.
In this moment.
For life.
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