September 21st was the perfect day for a regatta: blue skies, a high in the low 80s, and not a chance of rain in the forecast. The Northville Rowing Club came together with six other teams on its own Kent Lake home waters to host its first major scrimmage. You could feel the excitement as the Mustangs hoisted their rowing shells down to the beach and began the long row to the start line a mile away, ready to prove what they already knew in their hearts, that they dominated the water. Race after race, the sleek rowing shells holding the team in the orange and black uniforms slid past the finish line with times that smoked the competition. In all, the Northville team came in first place 16 out of 23 races that day. Proud parents socializing at the food tent high-fived and gave each other smug glances. It promised to be a great season.
Just after lunch, our brilliant blue skies darkened when a menacing cloud billowed in on the horizon. Lightening flashed in the distance, sending a fleet of racing shells scrambling to return to the beach before a galloping wall of water reached the eastern shore of the lake. My son, Drew, was out in his boat, and my husband was sitting on a pontoon at the start line at end of the lake. This was getting serious. I breathed a prayer for the protection of everyone on the water and was relieved to see Drew’s boat finally slide onto the beach. All at once, dozens of kids dashed to the food tent, the teeming storm nipping at their heels, everyone frantically grabbing their belongings as parents urged them to seek shelter. I found my son in the melee, and together we ran through the pounding rain and violent wind to the car. Where had the storm come from on a day that had promised to be gorgeous? It wasn’t expected. We hadn’t prepared.
In 45 minutes, the storm was over. The sun returned, and the competition resumed. We laughed at our dripping hair, our soaked clothing, and we went back to cheering on our team, reveling in the day’s successes and looking ahead to the next regatta.
At some point during that day, my eyes came to rest upon a beautiful young woman named Gabi, a friend of Drew’s and coxswain for the womens’ varsity 8 boat. It was easy to pick Gabi out of a crowd because she was striking, not only for her appearance but for her exuberance, her sassy spirit, and the way she gathered friends to her like chicks to a hen.
Just four days later, Gabi took her own life.
It wasn’t expected. We hadn’t prepared.
A storm that came from out of the blue once more descended on the rowing team. Only this time it didn’t come in the form of dark clouds, wind, and rain but of shock, sadness, and a deluge of tears.
I didn’t know Gabi personally, but she had been in my home on several occasions. And she had often given Drew rides to Young Life meetings before he had his license because that was the sort of thing she enjoyed doing for her friends. But it didn’t matter that I didn’t know her personally. I told Drew a while back that I couldn’t help but love his friends for the simple reason that they were his friends and because I could look into the eyes of each one of them and see a unique story behind them, kids with their own challenges, their own anxieties, their own triumphs. Gabi had been no different.
What if, four days before, I had seen the pain behind Gabi’s smile? Would I have gone to her, told her that her life had great value, that she was loved and there was hope for her future? But I hadn’t seen. Even those closest to her hadn’t. After all, Gabi was preparing for the future. She had bought her homecoming dress and was already talking about prom.
What we all missed was that, only three days before, Gabi had begun taking a new anti-depressant medication, one that comes with a warning that suicidal ideation is a potential side effect, especially in teens.
Teenagers aren’t expected to know the risks of psychotropic medications. They’re expected to laugh, be silly, tell secrets, and create memories of their high school experience together that they will carry with them all their lives.
My emotions these past two weeks have fluctuated between numbness and grief. I cling to God because it’s all I know to do at a time like this. I have continued to pray for the team’s protection, but now for a different kind of protection. At times, I’ve barely found the words to pray.
Christ never promised that following Him would make life easy, but He did promise to see us through life’s storms. What a comfort to know that He intercedes for me when my own words fail. That, like me and everyone else affected by this loss, He knows the pain of grief because He experienced it when he walked on this earth.
If Gabi’s death affected me so deeply, how much more so has it affected those closest to her? Like my son. I watched him try to be so strong and brave. “Mom, the team is broken, but we’re going to be stronger because of it,” he told me the evening after we all found out. But then I saw reality set in, and there were moments when I wondered if he would ever smile again.
I watched as his team took to the waters of Kent Lake only three days later, silently rowing its length in memory of their friend. The other parents and I looked on helplessly as the V8 women, tears streaming down their faces, settled into their shell, a bouquet of flowers wrapped with Gabi’s rowing visor in the coxswain seat she occupied only one week before. The aptly named Gabi had been a great coxswain. She loved to talk, and barking orders to her crew just came naturally.
And Gabi’s parents, who had just lost their only child, followed behind in the pontoon along with the head rowing coach. I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.
Over the next few days, this same team came together for the visitation and the funeral. I watched as they embraced one another and cried together. I watched as Gabi’s boyfriend sobbed upon seeing her once life-filled body lying there. I saw how a group of rowers surrounded him, offering what comfort they could give. But I even caught glimpses of smiles as they shared memories of their friend. Because she had given them a lot to smile about. That had been the kind of person Gabi was.
As the rowing team moves forward, they will settle in to whatever their new normal will be. For some, they lost their innocence two weeks ago. They will never be the same for the trauma they experienced, but it will be an experience that will bind them even closer together. They will always remember Gabi and the impact she had on each of them.
Just as the rain and the wind roared unexpectedly through our regatta on that brilliant September day and then swept eastward, leaving behind glorious rays of sunshine in its wake, as Drew observed, the rowing team will weather this storm. Even though it may be hard to see it in the present, the trauma will slowly fade, replaced by sweet memories of the past and hope for the future. So keep rowing, Mustangs. Your race isn’t over. 