I’ve been writing this in my head for some time now. Still, I’m not able to pick the words and yet have a need to write something. But the words can’t match the hollowness or even describe it. People have sent me many kind cards and a theme from these sweet messages of encouragement are “no words”. No words no words.
My nephew, Caleb Shoop, was killed on March 18th. He was hit by a truck while he was crossing in a crosswalk on his bike. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and, though his body physically lived for three days, he really died as soon as he was hit. The hell of being in the hospital and grabbing any shred of information that would indicate that things weren’t so grim as they appeared, seeing my brother trying to support his wife or watching my sister-in-law talk to her son is something I never hope to witness again. I wish that no one else would have to either.
No words. No words no words…
Caleb was just a good guy. He was kind, liked to laugh and was good to the people around him. He was the kind of guy who would enthusiastically “show up” for people. He let it be known to many that he wanted to be an organ donor. He would have been thrilled to know that he has improved people’s lives through his organs.
The depth of our grief is hard to face. And yet, as my brother pointed out, the only way through this is through it. So that is what we are doing, putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to be offended that life seems to be moving on when it feels like it shouldn’t.
It’s made me think about photography and what it means to me on a deeper level. I have long been in love with it for allowing me to savor life, reliving things that I want to hang on to. It had new depth of meaning to me when I lost my cousin Chet to cancer because it was a passion that we both shared and even communicated to each other with. Now, with the loss of Caleb, I am so thankful for the photos that I have of him, especially the ones I took of him for his Senior portraits. Not only are they great shots of him but they are a good reminder of a fun day spent with him and his girlfriend Bryn. When I take a photo that I know Chet would like, I feel connected to him. When look at photos of Caleb, I feel like he is with me again, laughing at something someone said or goofing around.
Photography is keeping me connected to myself and to those I’ve lost. I will be forever grateful to the seemly endless outlet and healing the art photography brings me.
Caleb Terrance Shoop
March 8th, 1995-March 21st, 2014
Dear Sug,
I read this today with my own fresh tears of grief after hearing the news that my sweet sister-in-law died earlier today after her long painful struggle with cancer.
Along with the emptiness I feel, I feel the distressing hollow ache of not having anything to offer my brother who has lost his constant companion, friend and soul mate.
It seems death is the great Zero of life, able to empty everything in it’s path by some ridiculous mathematical rule of multiplication. It rolls in and leaves gaping holes in families, gaping holes in hearts and yes, gaping holes when we open our mouths and try to make sense or bring comfort.
As a pastor, death is an all to frequent and unwelcome visitor who comes far too often and never at a good time. Yet, as familiar as I am, I have never found the right words or the good words and those who try to fill death’s great Zero, often end up sounding like someone shouting into a dark void trying and failing to find comfort in the sound of their own voice.
So, more often than not, I am accustomed to sit in silence, often with my own tears, bearing witness that death may take those we love, death may even take our words, but death will never take the love we have for one another.
Read your tender words, looking at this beautiful boy, I know that if I tried to speak, I could not (thanks be to God.) And so I weep, holding as much love as I’m able in my tiny human heart for you, your beautiful family, your brother and his family and especially for Caleb.
Kelly
Yet your words help heal. So you.
Beautifully written,and thank you for sharing. Our family feels this tremendous loss with you and you’re right, there are simply no words.
Oh Kelly, I’m so sorry. Thank you for your words. Isn’t it amazing that we all die and yet the impact on us is so great? I think it only points to proof of soul and the hope that it isn’t the final word.
Your pictures of Caleb help me every day, Christiana–sometimes they make me sob, and other times they make me smile, but both of those reactions are part of the journey “through” this. We miss him so very much–his joy and enthusiasm, his smiles and his wonky sense of humor… his helpfulness and giving spirit. There’s just no one else like him–he was a very special young man.