A young boy committed suicide yesterday in Bellevue, Nebraska.
I was the last person to speak to him before he walked away into a wooded area, chose a tree on which to fasten the fleece scarf he was wearing, then looping it around his neck and choking the life from his young body.
I first saw him as I walked down into the park, a young, thin boy (pre-teen) with dark hair, standing by a tree. In the distance between us, it looked like he was winding his scarf around a tree branch. It appeared strange, perhaps even unsafe, but the word suicidal never dawned on me until much later in the day.
I walked over to my daughter and pointed out the boy, asking, "What is that kid doing over there?"
She glanced over and recognized the kid, who had been causing some problems at the playground over the last several weeks, trying to start fights and recently telling our 4-year-old grandson if he didn't do what he told him he'd beat him up.
My daughter walked over to the tree and told him to stop what he was doing and take down the scarf. He refused, so she did it herself and told him he couldn't be doing that at the park, and if he did it again she'd take his scarf away.
He crossed the street through the wooded draw that many kids cut through to get to houses on the other side of the dry creek bed, and we assumed that he was returning home. We chalked up the exchange as a kid with very obvious behavioral problems again at the playground trying to get attention.
As we continued to play, the boy returned and tried to engage my daughter in discussion. She purposefully kept her attention on her preschool age children and kept her back to the boy, trying to discourage any further interaction.
I walked up to him and asked him what he wanted. He said he was mad at the mean lady who made him take down his scarf. I replied she's not a mean lady, a mean person would be someone who would just let you do something that could hurt yourself... she was the kind one because she had stopped anything bad from happening.
His response was that his parents wish he was dead. I replied I know that's not true. He asked how do you know, and I said because I am a mom and a grandma, and I would never want anything to happen to my son or grandson.
He went on to say his parents do bad things to him and they'd be happy if he was gone. I said if that's really true, then he needs to talk to a school counselor or a teacher. He replied that he went to an alternative school that didn't have counselors, but they have a psychiatrist, so I responded that would be a good person to talk to.
He replied that then they would send him to "juvi." I responded no, if you aren't being treated right a home they'll find you a foster family. In all honesty I was unsure whether he was being truthful, but if what he was saying was real I wanted to help him figure out a way to deal with it.
Our conversation continued, and he told me he had Asbergers, adding that he shouldn't tell me this but that he'd had half of his brain replaced twice, again sounding like he was making up stories.
I talked to him about how God created him and had a purpose for his life, and that he needed to chose to do good things, not bad. He replied that his parents never let him chose anything, they always told him what to do. I replied that you chose to come to this park today, and you can choose every day to do things that will make your life better and not worse. He asked if I was a preacher or something, and I said no, but I do love God and try to obey him.
He said he didn't believe in God. I asked him his name and he wouldn't tell me. I said I'm going to pray for you, and he replied you can't pray for me, you don't know my name. I replied that I don't, but God knows your name.
He left, walking back across the street where he had come from. I sat down on the bench facing the street and started praying for him. I truly can't remember the words of my prayer. But I look back and I just didn't have any sense that he was actually suicidal, I thought that is one troubled young man who needs some professional attention and Jesus as his lord and savior.
We continued playing at the park, watching the older kids kick around the soccer ball, coaxing Nathan down the big slide, enjoying the beautiful springlike weather. When Nathan started getting tired and crabby, we walked to the house and put him down for a nap. While Galen played with Andrew downstairs, Amy and I decided to take the dog for a walk.
We got to the corner and saw five police cars parked by the wooded area: our thoughts both went the same direction, as that was the last place we had seen the boy.
We circled around the other direction and as we returned we spoke to the police officers standing on the sidewalk. They confirmed our deepest fear ... the boy had left the playground, walked into the wooded area and found another tree, this time where no one would stop him.
He is dead, and now we are left to grieve a life cut short, left to ponder the questions of what could I have said or done differently, and if I had responded in a different way would his life have been spared.
In retrospect of course I would have called 911, but at the time none of us on that playground that day honestly thought that a child with a fleece scarf was actually making a suicide attempt. We will have to live with that fatal error in judgement.
I found out today his hame is Cameron.
I know for certain that Cameron has changed my life.
Next time I will be bolder and take action.
Next time I will give more than a mere 10 minutes of my time.
Next time will try harder to share my precious Lord and Savior.
I pray to God there will never be a next time.
My prayer this day and forever for Cameron is that God has taken him to be His own, healed him from his mental disabilities, and given him peace. I am praying too for his family today, and would ask your prayers for them, as well as for my daughter and myself, who are struggling emotionally with this tragedy and how it could have been prevented.
I was the last person to speak to him before he walked away into a wooded area, chose a tree on which to fasten the fleece scarf he was wearing, then looping it around his neck and choking the life from his young body.
I first saw him as I walked down into the park, a young, thin boy (pre-teen) with dark hair, standing by a tree. In the distance between us, it looked like he was winding his scarf around a tree branch. It appeared strange, perhaps even unsafe, but the word suicidal never dawned on me until much later in the day.
I walked over to my daughter and pointed out the boy, asking, "What is that kid doing over there?"
She glanced over and recognized the kid, who had been causing some problems at the playground over the last several weeks, trying to start fights and recently telling our 4-year-old grandson if he didn't do what he told him he'd beat him up.
My daughter walked over to the tree and told him to stop what he was doing and take down the scarf. He refused, so she did it herself and told him he couldn't be doing that at the park, and if he did it again she'd take his scarf away.
He crossed the street through the wooded draw that many kids cut through to get to houses on the other side of the dry creek bed, and we assumed that he was returning home. We chalked up the exchange as a kid with very obvious behavioral problems again at the playground trying to get attention.
As we continued to play, the boy returned and tried to engage my daughter in discussion. She purposefully kept her attention on her preschool age children and kept her back to the boy, trying to discourage any further interaction.
I walked up to him and asked him what he wanted. He said he was mad at the mean lady who made him take down his scarf. I replied she's not a mean lady, a mean person would be someone who would just let you do something that could hurt yourself... she was the kind one because she had stopped anything bad from happening.
His response was that his parents wish he was dead. I replied I know that's not true. He asked how do you know, and I said because I am a mom and a grandma, and I would never want anything to happen to my son or grandson.
He went on to say his parents do bad things to him and they'd be happy if he was gone. I said if that's really true, then he needs to talk to a school counselor or a teacher. He replied that he went to an alternative school that didn't have counselors, but they have a psychiatrist, so I responded that would be a good person to talk to.
He replied that then they would send him to "juvi." I responded no, if you aren't being treated right a home they'll find you a foster family. In all honesty I was unsure whether he was being truthful, but if what he was saying was real I wanted to help him figure out a way to deal with it.
Our conversation continued, and he told me he had Asbergers, adding that he shouldn't tell me this but that he'd had half of his brain replaced twice, again sounding like he was making up stories.
I talked to him about how God created him and had a purpose for his life, and that he needed to chose to do good things, not bad. He replied that his parents never let him chose anything, they always told him what to do. I replied that you chose to come to this park today, and you can choose every day to do things that will make your life better and not worse. He asked if I was a preacher or something, and I said no, but I do love God and try to obey him.
He said he didn't believe in God. I asked him his name and he wouldn't tell me. I said I'm going to pray for you, and he replied you can't pray for me, you don't know my name. I replied that I don't, but God knows your name.
He left, walking back across the street where he had come from. I sat down on the bench facing the street and started praying for him. I truly can't remember the words of my prayer. But I look back and I just didn't have any sense that he was actually suicidal, I thought that is one troubled young man who needs some professional attention and Jesus as his lord and savior.
We continued playing at the park, watching the older kids kick around the soccer ball, coaxing Nathan down the big slide, enjoying the beautiful springlike weather. When Nathan started getting tired and crabby, we walked to the house and put him down for a nap. While Galen played with Andrew downstairs, Amy and I decided to take the dog for a walk.
We got to the corner and saw five police cars parked by the wooded area: our thoughts both went the same direction, as that was the last place we had seen the boy.
We circled around the other direction and as we returned we spoke to the police officers standing on the sidewalk. They confirmed our deepest fear ... the boy had left the playground, walked into the wooded area and found another tree, this time where no one would stop him.
He is dead, and now we are left to grieve a life cut short, left to ponder the questions of what could I have said or done differently, and if I had responded in a different way would his life have been spared.
In retrospect of course I would have called 911, but at the time none of us on that playground that day honestly thought that a child with a fleece scarf was actually making a suicide attempt. We will have to live with that fatal error in judgement.
I found out today his hame is Cameron.
I know for certain that Cameron has changed my life.
Next time I will be bolder and take action.
Next time I will give more than a mere 10 minutes of my time.
Next time will try harder to share my precious Lord and Savior.
I pray to God there will never be a next time.
My prayer this day and forever for Cameron is that God has taken him to be His own, healed him from his mental disabilities, and given him peace. I am praying too for his family today, and would ask your prayers for them, as well as for my daughter and myself, who are struggling emotionally with this tragedy and how it could have been prevented.
