The Erskine Bridge is less than five miles from where we live. And on Sunday night two girls aged 14 and 15, whose names are Neve and Georgia, jumped to their deaths, holding hands. The tragedy that spreads out from such an act of despairing self-surrender will leave many people themselves bereft, those who knew them well and those who know only the end of their story as told on the news. The girls were resident in supported and secure accommodation. Their families, those who shared their lives at Bishopton, staff and other girls, social workers and other caring and support professionals, now live with the nightmare aftermath. The complexity of emotions and self-questioning that the tragedy of suicide triggers will be hard to endure, interpret and eventually work through. Seldom worked through to resolution, usually to resignation and a lingering sadness, and the often unjust yet inescapable sense of guilt, personal responsibility and that nagging barbed hypothesis, "what if I had…? Because we can always think of what we could have, might have, should have, done.
There will be an enquiry. Lessons will be learned, and each person within significant radius of their two young lives will have to account for their actions, decisions and professionalism. In the meantime grief is compounded by the demand to know why, and how. Already explanation is assumed to be failed systems and procedures; but the fact remains two young adults chose, together, to turn from life to final ending, and planned and shared the enacting of that so sad decision.
And all I feel I can do, last night and this morning, is light a candle, think of two young lives now ended, lift them in compassion to a merciful God, and pray for them and those they leave behind them.
And pray too that those whose lives are now touched by this act of life defying immolation, will in time find again a sense of the preciousness of life, and therefore the treasure that is each human being, which in the world of social and professional care is too easily overlooked by those of us outside, quick to blame and slow to understand human limitations.
And to pray to the God of whom the poet-psalmist wrote, who knitted each person together in their mother's womb – and so to pray that those young lives which seem so finally to have unravelled, will be gathered into the creative life of God into whose hands we all hope to fall and be held, and formed into the true self God made us to be.
This isn't wishful thinking or sentiment lacking theology. Whatever else the cross declares, it signals the span of divine love reaching outwards and downwards to those deep places we all fear most, where but for the grace of God we might all fall, and if we do, God is there before us, beneath us, and for us.
Lord have mercy.
Christ have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
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