Life has kinks and turns that we could not—no matter how
hard we work, how much we read, how deeply we love, or how often we pray—prepare
for.
Last Thursday, a boy turned young man—just twenty years old—took
his own life. I don’t know him personally. He lives in the eastern part of the United
States, and I live in the western part of Canada. But a part of his journey is
also our journey.
I met his mother Melissa Fay Greene just once, here in
Calgary. She was the guest speaker for a fundraiser that I organized along with
a dedicated group of volunteers, several years ago. We had a serendipitous
connection because her family met and got to know each of our adopted children,
before they joined our family. I learned of Melissa through her book release,
“There is No Me Without You”, in 2006, which details the life of the House Mother of the orphanage our kids spent some time at. We quickly connected through e-mail,
photos and sharing stories.
Melissa, a journalist, writer, and adoptive mother, has walked
in some of the same places as us, in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Her Ethiopian (adopted)
children lived for a time, in the same orphanage as our kids, and some of them,
at the same time.
The world is like this; there are links and connections
everywhere.
This week, my heart is broken for them, and their
indescribable loss. Their son, Fisseha (Sol), was adopted at age ten, like our
daughter Faven. It sounds like he had a joy for living, and was eager to go along with anything, like our son
Yohannes. His story is different, and his life’s path was not theirs. And yet,
my heart bends a bit more deeply in
feeling their loss.
Melissa described her son Sol as a “golden boy, miraculously
strong, fast, beautiful, intelligent and kind”. He was part of a large loving family, with eight siblings, and a
large loving community, which included a strong faith, and it sounds like he
brought consistent joy to all of those around him.
This week as they have struggled to grapple with what has
happened, Melissa recounted the words from an article her family shared during
the summer World Cup. They have become, in recent years, a huge soccer family,
due to the soccer skill of their Ethiopian-born children, one of who was Sol.
The article was about Brazil’s incredible, stunning 7-1 loss to Germany. The
author wrote:
“It was utterly beyond
belief. It was the sense, obviously irrational, but still strong, that we were
outside the realm of things that can occur.”
In reference to the death of her son, Melissa said, “We […] are
witnesses to an event that not only should not
have occurred, but an event that is “outside the realm of things that can occur”.”
Outside the realm . . .
What is so hard for me to comprehend . . . in life, in
suffering, in hardship, and in death . . . is that love is not innately
preventative. Love is a good thing—a very good thing. But it is not a balm for
a wound that cannot be seen, or a wound that comes up suddenly, and unexpectantly.
Fisseha, Sol, was a natural born athlete, who dreamed of one
day playing in the World Cup. He was gifted, and he excelled on the field and
off. His father said about him, “his ferocity on the field was matched by his
sweetness off it.” Tragically, his death has something to do with his
perceptions around soccer. Melissa spoke to the young people at his funeral,
and here are some words that are so relevant and important, especially when we live in a
society that highly values accomplishments;
We see you all—in the fullness of
yourselves – even when you all do not.
Yes, you do always look handsome
in your uniforms.
And yes, we’ll take sports drinks
and orange slices to your games, and we’ll photograph you and videotape you,
and cheer for you, and believe in you.
But here’s what we cannot and
will not do. We will not believe with you that your prowess on the soccer field
is the most important thing about you. Sol’s prowess was second to none.
But, what we do not and will not
believe is that soccer—the beautiful game—is the full sum of your beautiful
selves. We do not believe that off the field, out of uniform, in your little
striped knee socks that you’re somehow of less value. We do not agree that if
you’re brilliant soccer career falters—if you have a bad half, a bad game, a
bad season, if you’re not a starter, if you don’t get off the bench—that you’re
not the genius we always thought that you were.
We don’t believe there is no plan
B for you. You are still irreplaceably marvelous. There is always a plan B.
There is something like the dream
of soccer greatness in every one of you. But the big news is that the real
greatness, the true, deep, brilliant, untouchable, greatness has nothing to do
with your resumé. True genius is the genius of the heart, the genius who knows
how to love, to give, to make other people joyful every day of their life.
Fisseha, Sol, was a natural born athlete. But we didn’t love him because he was
the best we ever saw at soccer, football, basketball…
We loved him so much because he
was a genius of the heart, a natural born athlete of joy.
 |
| In loving memory of Fisseha (Sol) Samuel, photograph Melissa Fay Greene |
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