I'm Sorry

What can I say?  How can I start?  I was planning to write about my parents' visit, but I can't today.  My heart is too heavy.  My mind too consumed.
A neighbor down the street committed suicide this week.  Her daughter found her.  The police came.  My kids stood on the corner to see what was going on.  I just went back inside and fixed dinner.   I didn't even know what had happened until a few days later when I heard someone talking about it at the bus stop.
Why do we go through life assuming that everyone is doing okay?  Why do we assume that we are the only ones with problems?  Why do we resist taking off our masks and letting people see what is going on?
This week at my Bible study group (remember, the one I didn't want to go to)  the leader asked us to share how our lives had been interrupted.  My heart was pounding.  I didn't want to share.  I didn't want to be the only person falling apart when I told my story.  I didn't want people to feel sorry for me.
I didn't have to worry.
That small group of women  shared stories of bankruptcy, job loss, children born with handicaps, family splits, depression, panic attacks, and infidelity.  I was not the only one whose life had been forever changed by suffering.
We all took off our masks just for a moment and let others see our wounds.
And it helped.
We prayed for each other.
And it helped.
We studied to see how God can make something beautiful out of something ugly.
And it helped.
I wish I had invited my neighbor.  I wish she could have shared her pain with someone else.  I wish we could have prayed with her and for her.  I wish I could have told her that what is seen is temporary.
But it's too late.
Now when I drive down my street I wonder if there is someone else inside those beautiful houses who is hurting, someone else who is having trouble getting out of bed each day, someone else who needs the hope that I have.
I can't assume that just because their yard looks perfect that their life is perfect.
I'm sorry neighbor.
I'm sorry I didn't even know your name.