Before I get all of you riled up with my federal gun control proposal, I want to share a story my 95-year-old neighbor friend shared with me this afternoon. Robyn is my mentor, coach and cheerleader. She calls me every day around 11:00 am, to make sure I’ve been writing, and I read to her over the phone, usually the post from the day before. It’s not until I’m reading the already-uploaded post to Robyn that I identify typos and sentences that don’t make sense. I should probably get in the practice of reading to Robyn what I’ve written before I post.
Anyway, this week I’ve been reading my essays on gun control. Today, after I read the add-on to Part II of the series to her, Robyn told me a story about Robert. Something that has haunted Robyn for 84 years.
The year was 1935. Robyn was eleven years old and in the sixth grade. There was a boy in her class named Robert who was actually thirteen years old but was in the sixth grade because his education had been disrupted so many times. You see, Robert was a foster child and he was always being moved from one family to another, one school to another. None of the kids paid much attention to Robert – he was so much older than they were.
One afternoon, Robyn snuck out of the classroom and into the “cloakroom” to fetch something she had forgotten. Robert was sitting alone on the floor of the cloakroom. He told Robyn that he was moving the next day, that they were taking him to a farm to live. Though Robert had been in her class all year, none of the kids really knew him. Robyn didn’t know what to say. So, she said nothing. She left the cloak room and returned to class.
The next day in school, the sixth graders learned that Robert had killed himself the night before – with a gun.
All these years later, Robyn still feels tremendous guilt for having said nothing to Robert in the cloakroom.
In yesterday’s post, I referenced an article I had read about two men who had survived jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. In the article, both gentlemen stated that, in the hours prior to jumping, if someone had asked them if they were okay, they would have confessed that they were not okay, that they wanted to commit suicide. But in both cases, nobody asked. At the time, the men took this as affirmation that no one really cared about them.
One of the men had been standing on the bridge for over forty minutes, preparing to jump, when a woman approached him. He told himself that if she asked if he was okay, he would ask her for help. But the lady didn’t ask how he was. Instead, she asked if he could take a picture of her on the bridge. He took the picture. And minutes later, he jumped.
A simple question may save a life. Just ask.
I am dedicating the series, “Guns in America” to the memory of:
Robert Sequest
The Boy in the Cloakroom
So so sad.
Very sad. We had a 14 year old girl from our church that decided to hang herself from her bunk bed. She did not leave a note and no one thought anything was wrong. The family will never know why she decided to end her life.
Tears just thinking of what both those children went through, Robert for the 13 short years of his life and Robyn who has carried that guilt for most of her life.
This email should be read to Congress! It is so touching. Jill you are a remarkable writer and you are so lucky to have that wonderful elderly friend. And she is lucky to have you too! Keep writing. I look forward to reading your emails!
I’m sure there are lots of Roberts that are going through the same pain today. So sad.
What a sad story! Prayers to Robert and to Robyn. I’m so glad she told you this experience so that you could share it with us. We must all be aware of each other. I think there are a lot of young kids and adults that are afraid to ask for help. Let’s be a little more conscious of what others may be going through. Jill, I enjoy all your writings. Thanks! ♥️