I grew up in a tough area. Its mostly working-class construction, plumbing, electrician-type. In the 70's a planned nuclear plant was shut down and the rich economy of that area took a serious hit. It seemed that depression just took over and has been claiming lives there since. Its probably no worse than any other rust belt village but to me its home and it breaks my heart to see what is happening there.
About three weeks ago I had a dream about a guy from high school, Steve Kopka. I guess we could have been considered aquaintences. I know if we were to see each other we'd speak about old times for about 10 minutes and we'd be done. I don't know why I'd have a dream about him, especially one that had us actually talking about our kids because I haven't seen him in almost 25 years and didn't even know he had kids.
My sister sent me this last week:
Sheriff: Suicide bullet struck deputy, too
Its a story of a man at the end of his choices, or so he thought. I've been so close to that same place. Nothing anyone said could help me see things differently because there is no way they could understand. A few did love me though and that stuck with me in a big way. I hope that I never make the mistake of saying nothing again. I know I don't always say the right things, my wife tells me that, but sitting in this chair and wondering if I could have said the right thing is not a position I hope to find myself in again, for Jesus' sake.
Life is so fragile. Hope is so important.