A HeartBreaking Work of Stagging Heartbreak

I don't know why I chose the particular title I did, other than I could fit the word heartbreak into it twice, the post doesn't really relate to the similarly titled book.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about specific bad events. I've sort of mentally prepared myself for the worst, as much as one can. Maybe we all have. I've thought, what would I do if--heaven forbid--one of my loved ones was seriously hurt or died well before their time? During these contemplative moments I mostly ponder the concept of forgiveness. I hope that if I ever am tasked with the need to give great forgiveness, I'll be equipped to hand it out in abundance. It's hard to know till it happens, but I feel like a) being aware that you hope for it and b) actively visualizing it, will make it more likely when, if ever, it's called for. I feel like an athlete picturing in his mind the three-point shot he'll have to make at the end of the most important game of his life. You can go through it in your mind a thousand times but you still might not hit the shot when the time comes, but hopefully you've upped your odds.

Unfortunately this sort of meditation has left me ill-prepared for an event that took place this week. Actually the event took place a few years ago but my discovery of the event was just this week.

A friend sent me a message over Facebook with a link, he asked, "Did you see this?" I opened the link and found before me a picture of a different friend, a mug shot, and the description of the list of his crimes that included words like "thirteen year old girl" and "sexual assault in the first degree."

These things I can't understand. Honestly, when I think about it for more than a couple seconds I have to fight back the urge to cry. It's such a fucking mess.

There's the obvious, likely life long, pain some little girl will get to grow old with. That's the sort of suffering I feel like I've been preparing myself for. But this is something else, instead of the boogeyman being some stranger, some random act of violence perpetrated on one of my loved ones, it's one of my friends, he has become the perpetrator and it's not a state of affairs that I've equipped myself to deal with.

For redemption to mean anything it has to mean something for this man, he who has fallen the furthest. It has to do so without belittling those he has hurt, the girl in question, her family and his own friends and family. But all I can feel is, "God damn you, Jon! God Damn You!"

And then I feel stupid for even talking or thinking about forgiveness. It's not mine to give here. It belongs to a whole other family if they ever chose to give it. And yet it feels like mine, like it should be all of ours. He's likely ruined his life with these actions. At one point I tried to imagine what it felt like at the moment he had his mug shot taken. The terrible sinking feeling captured forever in a flash that says, "It's over. You're done." His own stupid useless staggering heartbreak. And I was crushed under its imaginary weight; I'm incapable of imagining what horror it must have been. There's more than one tragedy here, but I'm left only knowing how to feel about one of them. God damn you, Jon. I hope one day I'll be able to follow that up with a plea for peace upon your soul, but that day isn't today. God damn you.