A Tribute to Alex, and My Feelings Concerning His Death
This is my friend Alex Christensen in 2006. We served together as LDS missionaries in Alaska for about six months - a quarter of our missionary service. His expression highlights his jovial nature that never ceased to make me smile. He is adorned in the traditional clothes of the Hmong people, whom he loved immensely during his time in Alaska, and whose language and culture he quickly mastered as a missionary.
I received news of Alex's death on the 10th of April, as well as the tragic circumstances of his death - suicide. The news was surprising and upsetting, and left me feeling confused, angered, and morose, as I sense it did all who knew him. I attended the funeral Monday, the 13th of April, and was met with a warm welcome from his family and friends.
In the wake of a tragedy such as this I believe it would be normal to distract oneself and others from grief by reminiscing on the fond memories of the departed, and to extol their virtues - both of which are extraordinarily easy to do with such a remarkable character as Alex Christensen. And yet, as I write this, I find myself wholly unable to separate memories of Alex from the tidal wave of emotions that I am currently experiencing, or to accentuate select aspects of those memories, which are as complex to me as they are vivid.
And so, the only way that I can write and demonstrate my devotion for my friend Alex is to describe the raw and unfiltered emotion that I have experienced preceding and accompanying the news of his death, and during his beautiful funeral. I hope that my story will adequately express my memories and fondness of Alex. I hope it will also illustrate the emotion created from the death of someone so young, so bright, and so successful as Alex - particularly in the context of his suicide.
Reading through an Old Journal
During my time in Alaska with Alex - or Elder Christensen as I knew him then - I wrote in a journal daily. On Easter Sunday night, when I found that I could not sleep, I decided to take a look at this missionary journal - something that I had not done in several years. I reviewed all of my two years of service, but I particularly reminisced on the two separate times that I served with Alex in the Hmong branch. Throughout the next week until I heard the news I would on occasion share an entry or a story with my wife, both the good and bad ones.
While reading, I remembered the first day I began working with Alex - both of us young missionaries and terrified about the change of partners, and the new territory which came along with it. Alex was a strange mixture of boundless charisma, wackiness, and social awkwardness. It seemed to me that deep down he was very timid, but buried such feelings under a mountain of nearly inhuman courage - courage which was rewarded by exceptionally fast language acquisition, and abundant miracles and success in the missionary field.
I remembered how Alex would talk to everybody he could see about the Gospel of Jesus Christ - and I seriously mean everyone. He would run, literally run, across streets in order to catch up with people who were probably just trying to avoid us. He was rejected frequently, sometimes harshly, and with each rejection he was emboldened to try again.
But, oh did Alex also have a lot of success. Most anger towards us, and resentment about being approached on the street, melted under the warm glow of Alex's humor and charisma, opening the way for Alex's bold declarations of testimony and conviction. And with each faithful encounter more people who were ready to listen were put in Alex's path, until it occurred ten or more times daily. My guess is that half of the people who would eventually be taught by missionaries initially talked to Alex.
I remembered how one day, while walking through a neighborhood with a high quantity of Hmong people, Alex went out of his way to speak with a white guy whose body language clearly stated he did not want to talk to us. And he didn't want to talk to us, and made that abundantly clear to us within the first few moments after our approach. And yet Alex was kind and charismatic, and managed to not only establish good relations with this man, but also learned that this man had Hmong neighbors who would likely listen to our message. The subsequent meeting with those neighbors led to ten people being baptized over the next several months.
I also remembered how, although Alex was normally unnaturally courageous and talkative, he was initially timid in talking to me. I remembered how on the first morning of the Hmong work I awoke and began exercising as usual, and when I went downstairs I was surprised to find Alex there waiting in his Tennis gear ready to go to the park and play for our daily exercise, having been too shy to ask me if I wanted to go. Perhaps he had heard that I was rebellious to authority and feared that I would disagree.
And disagree I frequently would, and sadly also complain, rebel, resent, criticize, and communicate with an overall air of pessimism. This only led Alex to including me less in the planning and teaching processes, which made language acquisition challenging, and made me frustrated when on the rare occasion that I knew I had a good idea it was obstinately viewed as some form of heresy, just on principle that it came from me. It took me months until I learned how to communicate ideas effectively, and to work in unison with Alex's vision when ideas were not accepted.
I remembered my frustrations when Alex refused to work with the members of our branch, and although he was in charge, I fought with him daily about it. Normally missionaries focus on teaching nonmembers of the church, but the members of our branch were struggling, with each few weeks losing a new member family because of the difficulties of poverty, family and cultural problems, and general struggles concomitant with being a new member of the church, which all our members were. In a few months we went from about eighty members attending church, to ten; and yet, Alex adamantly refused to spend time with them, and I suspect a measure of his stubbornness came because I frequently, and often unkindly, suggested the idea. I remember one day praying fervently that I could communicate my thoughts to Alex, and that his heart would be softened. We talked, and with tears in his his he told me that walls of pride had fallen as I spoke. We both wept tears of joy, humility, and relief, and then we set out to work.
I remembered how Alex loved God, and loved the Hmong people even more, and tirelessly did everything he could to serve them. I remembered how furiously he studied Hmong by talking with every Hmong person he could see. How he did not just learn to communicate, but how to communicate natively. I remembered how he surrounded himself in everything Hmong, learning how to Tsua Qeej (play a Hmong reed instrument) and Hais Kwv Txhiaj (sing in the Hmong poetic style) - feats which most young Hmong people never accomplish.
I remembered how Alex one day excitedly told me that his Hmong skills had exceeded my predecessor, the missionary who had trained him; and indeed, his language skills became such that when he called Hmong people on the phone they thought that he was a Hmong person.
I remembered early one morning waking up to the sound of Alex calling for help downstairs. He had been awake most of the night throwing up, but I had been completely oblivious. He was sick for days, but still was able to to make dozens of phone calls using every phone number he had, all the while bedridden. In order to recover faster he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, which I had never done before. I was afraid to try, but he lovingly taught me how, and we both had a powerful spiritual experience.
I remembered one day while helping a Hmong family fix their house how a wooden beam somehow lifted away from the wall it was leaning against, turned in the air, and whacked Alex right in the back of the head. I had joked at the time that the devil was out to get him for all the good work he was doing among the Hmong people.
I recalled with a laugh when an old Hmong lady came up to Alex and announced that she had a granddaughter in Laos and that she wanted to arrange a marriage between her and Alex. Alex nervously declined and showed the woman a picture of a girl back home as a quick excuse to get away from such a commitment. I believe he was extended several such opportunities - I received none.
I remembered how I learned Hmong with incredible difficulty, and how this broke Alex's heart as I was to one day replace him. He and other missionaries were worried that I would fail to learn the language, like a handful of missionaries before me, and that my lack of language skills would destroy the missionary work. In order to get me to study harder, Alex told me that I must not be loving the Hmong people, otherwise I would have been learning faster - an accusation which stung, and was untrue. His worrying, frustrations, and whisperings with other missionaries fueled my paranoia that if anyone could fail it would be me, and laid a foundation of feelings of inferiority to Alex which I was never able to get rid of.
I remembered receiving the call that not only Alex, but I would also be leaving the Hmong work. This was devastating news as it meant that I clearly was not deemed capable of carrying on the legacy, and two completely new missionaries would be called to replace us. Alex was devastated that there would be no seamless continuation of our work because of me, and I was crushed that Alex was so disappointed in me, and that his frustrations in me had come to fruition.
I eventually did return to the Hmong branch with Alex, and we were able to work and teach very well together, but it was not until after Alex moved on to another area that my language skills really flourished. I remembered later seeing Alex and trying to show him that I could speak Hmong much better, only to completely lose my minimal capacity in his presence. I realized then that I really wouldn't ever be able to show him that I also loved the Hmong people and had learned to speak their language, at least not how I wanted to be able to.
I remembered when we just left a members house in a particularly dangerous neighborhood when Alex told me he had a very bad feeling and that we should leave immediately. We did so, and passed several police cars speeding into the neighborhood as we left. The next day we discovered that someone had been shot just a block away from where we had been standing the evening before.
I remembered how Alex told me he planned on studying accounting when he returned home from a mission. At the time I told him that he would make a great accountant, but then shamelessly shared some of my favorite items from history, literature, religious studies (especially Zoroastrianism), linguistics, and anthropology. And then I remembered years after our missions my joy when I visited Alex and he told me that he had decided to study the Humanities, and wanted to teach one day.
I remembered attending Hmong New Years - which conveniently was held in our own church building, and attended by nearly all of the Hmong in the city. The whole event I wanted to go talk to a Hmong lady whom Alex had offended, but I worried about my language skills and didn't dare do it by myself. Eventually, at the end of the night when we should have been clearing out to meet our curfew I stopped and spoke with the lady, delaying our exit. At the moment that we should have been leaving the door there was an announcement that the Hmong community had a present for us missionaries - our own private dance with two Hmong girls. This was of course against the rules and I began to panic. But Alex was able to mostly smooth things over by telling the crowd that if we danced then God would "destroy us".
I read a particularly detailed passage in my journal which exemplified the caliber of missionary Alex was. Alex and I attended an informal gathering of Hmong community leaders. As was the custom, the leaders drank cups of alcohol to ensure blessings on their family - although juice was kindly provided for the Mormons in attendance. When it came to Alex's turn to drink his glass he paused and asked the elders why they drank. They answered that it was to ensure that blessings would come on their families. Then, in a demonstration of simple, but powerful discipleship, Alex turned to this room full of powerful men, who could easily destroy our efforts in Anchorage, and with love, faith, perfect language taught them that he would pray to God for blessings, and then proceeded to share his testimony of the love of God, from whom all blessings flow. Although it was a simple event, the powerful spirit of discipleship I felt as he stood before those men has never been exceeded in my life.
Finally, I remembered likely the most emotional experience involving Alex. I was in Nome Alaska, my area in between the two times I served with Alex in the Hmong branch. I was sitting studying the scriptures when all of the sudden a tidal wave of emotion hit me, and all of the frustrations, pride, envy, hurt, and feelings of inferiority which I had ever felt with Alex in the above experienced returned with fervent vigor. I realized that such feelings were not mine if I chose to discard them, and I immediately began to pray for Alex's welfare and that I could be free from such disgusting feelings. The dark feelings departed, and were replaced by warm memories of Alex's courage, humor, and friendship, and my deep-seated devotion to such a powerful individual.
A few minutes later I received a phone call and was informed that I would be returning to the Hmong branch and would have a second opportunity to serve with Alex. I was incredibly happy, and during the next six weeks we worked together in unity, and without the contention which I had introduced earlier.
Reflections
That Easter Sunday and the following days I reminisced on the memories and emotions from the above experiences with Alex. I remembered with fondness the good times that we had, and my devotion to him because of his friendship to me, his powerful qualities, and his forgiveness to me after the months of hard times I put him through. I remembered the long since forgiven feelings of frustration I had towards Alex for the months of hard times he put me through. I re-experienced the faded, but not completely overcome, feelings of inferiority to Alex, and shame that my character was so weak the precious little time that we had served together. Finally, I remembered the common goals, insights, and aspirations that we had, so I decided that I should contact Alex soon and discuss those goals, as well as events that had transpired during the last four years of no contact.
Oh, so I wish I had done so years ago. But unfortunately, as you may already know, the very day that I picked up that journal after so many years, was the day that Alex died.
His death has left me surprised and confused. Alex was young, smart, and a courageous spiritual giant; he was happily married with two young kids; he was attending graduate school studying linguistics, and with his skills had a bright career before him. Why then did he have to die? Why then, would he ever commit suicide?
I don't know any details about Alex's life during the last four years, and overall very little since the mission. I don't know what challenges he faced his last years - and that's okay, because we do not need to know those details in order to grieve. And grieve is all that we can do - no amount of information would ever be enough to truly stand in his shoes.
His death has left me full of remorse that I had fallen out of contact with Alex - that I had remembered our experiences together too late. That perhaps if I had been a better friend this tragedy would not have happened.
The funeral was beautiful, and yet very surreal. The room was arrayed in yellow flowers and yellow clothing, honoring one of the only colors Alex could see well. I wore my Hmong tie, which was a match to one Alex also received in Alaska.
Alex's amazingly strong wife, Orchid, gave a life sketch of Alex. She shared many of the characteristics which I portrayed above, particularly Alex's courage and charisma. Although she was certainly hurting, she dedicated her effort to comforting those in attendance at the funeral. She told everyone that there was nothing anyone could have done differently to prevent the tragedy - which I needed to hear. She shared her personal spiritual conviction that God knew Alex, and had prepared a way for him to complete everything he needed to do in this life in the short time he had - that he would not be missing out on any opportunities.
Alex's bishop also spoke. He expressed his conviction that if Alex could say anything to his friends and family at that funeral it would be that the person who committed suicide that day was not him, that he was not himself, and that he is sorry.
And with a full heart I believe everything said in that funeral. I believe because there is no other option. Because every alternative simply makes no sense. Because the mountain of a person I knew simply could not die so young otherwise - as well as leave a beautiful young family behind.
I will remember Alex. I will use my memories of him, and the powerful emotions they created, as a way to be a better person. I hope to do some good in the world in some small way as in his name. I hope to be cognizant of the crippling emotional pain depression, death, and suicide bring to all people involved, and to do my part to alleviate that pain.
I will miss him. He was a good friend, and an incredible missionary. I intend to see him again.
Sib ntsib duo Koob Tsheej, kuv tus phooj ywg. Kuv hlub koj heev!
