Kilby Hall, Troy [State] University

Since I started this particular blog post, I had some second thoughts – was there really a moment that I became a grownup?

I think so.

Prior to the event at Troy, I’d had some tough experiences – death of three grandparents, various other aunts and uncles, all those things that are part of living. The moment I became a grownup had to do with a death, too – and it was a death that was chosen by the individual that died.

Last time I mentioned that I was a theater major at Troy. I loved the folks I worked with. This particular quarter I was cast in “Inherit the Wind,” and this particular play was directed by a fellow student, Marty.

Ken, who I mentioned earlier, was the lead. I liked Ken a lot, but I can’t say that we were “close.” In retrospect, I wish I’d worked just a little harder to get to know him.

We’d been in rehearsals for some weeks. Our rehearsal space was a campus building known as Kilby Hall. Kilby was the first building built on the campus after it had moved out of downtown Troy. It was designed as a laboratory school for teacher training. The vaguely Spanish-style building had classrooms, a theater, and other intriguing little nooks and crannies. (It’s since been demolished. Pity.)

On this particular night, we hadn’t begun rehearsal yet. It seems that it had been raining. I can’t really remember. Marty hadn’t come yet, and he was a stickler for beginning right on time.

We were just milling around, chatting, cracking jokes, just routine activity. Then Marty came in.

I’m an empath. What a blessing  and a curse. Not only do I know what you’re feeling. I feel what you’re feeling.

When Marty entered, I felt bile rise in my throat. Something was wrong. I knew it. I felt it.

”I’ve got some news,” Marty said quietly. “And it’s unreal.”

“Ken’s dead,” he choked out. “He killed himself.”

At least that’s what I think he said. After “Ken’s dead,” the room collectively gasped, and Marty’s words were lost.

It was as though someone had lobbed a grenade in the room. From a distant, ethereal place, I saw folks sob, clutch each other, wail, curse – the full gamut of grief and emotion.

I could check with some of my classmates to help me remember what happened the rest of that evening. I do recall that most of us ended up together in someone’s apartment. We tried to process what had happened. We talked, cried some more, laughed some, and cried again.

Marty stepped in later to play Ken’s role. It seemed fitting, somehow. The show must go on, of course.

I do now believe, decades later, this was the moment I became a grownup.

It was also my first experience with suicide, at least of someone I knew.

We who knew Ken talked a lot about that day. Many of us went to Birmingham for his funeral. We had some hard questions with no easy answers.

There is more I could say, but even now, it’s not something I’m comfortable with.

So why, you might rightfully ask, did I even bring this up? Why talk about the moment I became a grownup?

If you look back on your own life, you can recognize that you are made up of a series of events, some good, some bad. Each one of those events changed you – sometimes incrementally, sometimes in major ways.

The people you relate to did not come into your life by accident.

God, in His sovereignty, moves people in and out of your life, and each one leaves a mark on you.

Sometimes, those people are taken away from you – or, in my story, they took themselves away.

Ken’s death caused me to look at the fragility of life in a totally different way. Life is fragile on it’s own – you aren’t promised that next heartbeat. And life is fragile enough to be terminated by the actions of the one facing hopelessness.

I don’t know what in your life is the moment you became a grownup. Perhaps you’re still waiting on something.

When that moment comes, if it hasn’t already, take stock of your heart. Listen. Learn. Grow.

You may laugh. You may cry. It’s all part of the human experience.

Whatever comes your way, don’t waste it. Feel deeply. Act accordingly.

It’s okay to wonder. Accept those events in humility. If you need to question, that’s okay. Just don’t forget.

Keep on growing. Until Jesus returns or God calls you home, you have a lot to experience and learn. That’s proper. Welcome life in all its facets, and use who you are and what you’re becoming to bless and encourage someone else.

Be well.

Tony’s Question: What, in your life experience, can you share with someone else that can give them encouragement and hope? Comment below, please!