*********
“I know what you’ve been through,” Matt says, but he has spoken unwisely.
His brother, who has been sitting passively so far, refusing to look at him, snaps his head up, and the green glare he is now directing at Matt is rather disturbing. “You don’t,” John half-growls. A moment later, he drops his head back into his hands, fingers gripping at his dark hair, hair that could use a brush and some shampoo. His voice lowers, anger fading, as he adds, “You couldn’t.”
Matt eyes him. “You’re not the only one who lost Mark, you know,” he says, frustration decorating his words. He stands, making as if to storm out in an angry huff. John’s next words stop him though.
“No, but I am the only one who killed him.”
John refuses to look at Matt, but he doesn’t shrug off the hand Matt has now placed on his shoulder.
“And don’t you even tell me I didn’t,” John continues, correctly predicting Matt’s next strategy. “I did. We all know it, and pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it go away.”
Matt’s grip tightens, and they sit in silence for a moment.
“It should have been me,” John whispers. The whisper just sort of slips out. It is filled with the anger, confusion, grief, and guilt that have been plaguing him since his Mark’s death. It is something he has been thinking about every day for the past month. Something he has known all along. He can’t figure it out. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he the one lying in the coffin six feet under in a cold, dreary graveyard? Why is it Mark and not he?
Matt almost hits him. Instead, he snaps, “And you think that would make things better, do you?”
“It’d make me feel better!” John half-shouts.
“Yeah, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Matt says. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do to get through to you. I guess the rest is just up to you.” With these words, he turns and leaves.
John stays where he is, wallowing. The emotions he feels is almost suffocation, which isn’t a very masculine thing to say, but he never does say it, which probably contributes to said suffocating feelings. Matt can’t understand. Matt didn’t kill their brother. Matt doesn’t live with the premature death hanging over him the rest of his life.
Neither do you.
The voice is sly, whispering in the back of his mind. It’s the part of John, the part that exists within all of us, that is generally kept at bay.
You could end it. You wouldn’t have to feel this anymore.
It’s selfish, John knows. So, so selfish. But he can’t help considering it. He doesn’t want to be here anymore, doesn’t want to taint his family with his presence. He can’t help but feel that it would set things right.
It would be so easy. You can say good-bye to everything. To the pain, to the guilt.
It was tempting. But what would everyone say? What would Matt think of him?
Your life isn’t up to them. It’s up to you.
And his decision was made.
********
A young man, a teenager of maybe sixteen, hurries into a church. He hasn’t been in a while, and has forgotten that mass started ten minutes ago. He genuflects and slips inconspicuously into a pew. He hasn’t missed much, he notes, as the woman stands to sing the Responsorial Psalm, and for that, he is grateful.
He smiles, a feeling of peace and content washing over him. It is something he rarely feels
anymore, and he embraces it. He no longer is burdened by his troubles. He no longer is weighed down by guilt and misery. Sure, he feels sad sometimes, but who doesn’t? He has figured out the key to happiness. And everyone was right.
It was all up to him.
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