The Mountain of Despair

It had been what seemed to be an eternity since the deputy visited our house and examined Stephen’s room, taking pictures of his desk and the hand written note he left on it.  As I watched him walk about his room, the anxiety built to levels I have seldom experienced.  His quiet and professional manner was somehow soothing but just the fact that he was here was disturbing in a way that I can not totally explain, even now.

We had given him Stephen’s phone number for them to use to work with the cell phone company to try to ping his phone to be able to triangulate on his position.  Hope beyond all hopes was that they would be able to find him and get to him and somehow bring him back home to us so we could get him whatever help he needed to deal with this overload of emotion he must have felt and the strong sense of hopelessness.  Kim provided him all the information on Stephen’s pickup, the VIN, make, model, color as well as what he was wearing at the time.  Even though we had found his suicide note relatively quickly, the realization that he might already be gone weighed heavy on our hearts.  The deputy left our home with reassurances that they would find him and that he would contact us as soon as he knew anything.  We still clung on to some shred of hope that he would be found and that somehow everything would be all right.

I looked at my watch when the deputy left and it was mid afternoon.  The intervening minutes turned into hours without a word.  Somehow, no matter how difficult it was to wait, I still held out hope that he could be found alive.  Later we would find out that there were many people out looking for him after we notified the sheriffs department.  Kim and I stayed home waiting for him in the event that he would somehow walk through the door and we could hold him and talk with him and seek to understand the avalanche of words that he left to us in his letter.

The despair I felt was overwhelming.  I spent the intervening hours with a breaking heart and cried privately inside as I prayed prayers that God’s Spirit would somehow reach him and help him know that there was hope and that this was not the answer he was seeking.  

The day was fading, and the sun was going down.  The feeling of despair was turning to panic.  As a strong man, a big man, Stephen did not like the darkness.  He still slept with the light on in his room.  I began to feel the worst had happened and that he was gone.   Then the I heard a knock on the door and the doorbell rang.  My heart sank as I opened the door.  I saw the deputy standing at our door.  I could tell from his expression that Stephen was gone.  The despair swept over me like a flooding torrent as I went to get Kim and bring her into the living room as the deputy began to tell us the worst news we had ever known as a married couple.   He was gone.

As a teen, I was hospitalized with an ulcer almost at the point of bleeding.  I had known my doctor not only as a doctor but as a compassionate, tender, caring man who happened to also teach one of my Sunday School classes.  As I lay in the bed at the hospital he shared with me a message of hope that I have never forgotten and that has been my rock in the midst of all adversity ever since that moment.  He shared 1 Corinthians 10:13 which says, “There hath no temptation (test) taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”   

In that moment as the deputy left our home, my heart and thoughts moved immediately to that same verse which has been my comfort over the years.  At that moment with this mountain of despair upon me, I did not know how I was going to be able to bear it and keep standing with the emptiness in my heart at the loss of my youngest son.  But I had that reassurance in my heart that somehow God would make a way and together, with my wife and family, we would get through this tragedy.