How do you say goodbye? Part I

Jess: It’s been almost three weeks since our friend Corbin took his own life, and I just now feel like I can put words down about it. I just now feel like I have my thoughts sorted out enough to write.

Corbin has been our friend since 2006. He and Wes were in the same class in college, he dated one of our other friends, and he was roommates with others. He came to our wedding. He and two of our other friends were our first out-of-state visitors when Wes and I moved to New Jersey. He helped us move into our house in Kyle. Most recently, he was James’ live-in nanny for six months during this crazy year.

And now there will be no new stories about Corbin. When our next friends get married or have babies, Corbin won’t be there to celebrate. When we gather together for New Year’s and other events, Corbin won’t be with us. There is going to be a hole in our lives forever.

We have a really tight-knit group of about 20 friends from college. Many of us married each other, we have all lived with various individuals or sets of the group, some are siblings, we get together once a month on Skype or Google+ to talk, and when we come together for an event, it’s like no time has passed since the last time we were together. There are people in this world who are lucky to have just one friend like that. And we have 20!

The upside to this during the last few weeks has been that we have had one another to fall back on. Most of us were able to attend the funeral and be together for that time.

The downside is that every single one of us feels this loss deeply. We’re never going to be the same.

And you know what? I’m mad. I’m mad that Corbin, surrounded by this wonderful group of friends, didn’t feel like he could talk to us about his struggles. I’m mad that he did this incredibly selfish thing. I’m mad that there was probably nothing we could have done and definitely nothing we can do now.

And I’m deeply, deeply sad. I’m sad that my friend is gone. I’m sad for the hole we will always feel because of this loss. I’m sad that James, who loved having his Uncle Corbin right in the next room, will never really get to know him. I’m sad that Corbin’s parents, sister, grandparents, etc. had to go through this and will have to deal with his loss for the rest of their lives. I’m sad that his nephew and niece won’t know him. I’m sad for what the world lost—a brilliant, funny, witty, sweet, fun, wonderful man. I’m sad that we won’t get to celebrate his marriage or the birth of his children, that we won’t be able to support him during the tough times and rejoice during the wonderful ones.

But, through all the anger and sadness, the guilt and the confusion, I remember one thing. We read Romans 8 during Corbin’s funeral, and the words that will never be the same to me have cropped up seemingly everywhere in the intervening weeks: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Corbin’s death doesn’t separate him from the love of God. Neither does it, ultimately, separate him from us. We will see Corbin again, and just think of all the things we’ll have to tell him!

(Wes will be writing at a later time)