Posted by Editormum on 6 April 2013 in
News Commentary |
∞
This past week has been a very hard one. About ten days ago, my office was rocked by the shocking news that a former coworker had taken his own life. And on the day when I found out when my coworker’s memorial service would be, I was told that a very dear friend had died from complications due to illness.
So I had two funerals and a visitation to attend this week, one a day starting on Monday. It was … heart-wrenching.
But the harder of the two was the suicide. Not because I cared less for my friend than for my former coworker. Far from it. But my friend had been ill for a long time, and, as we are both Christian ladies, I know that she is now with our Saviour in Heaven, well and happy and no longer in pain. And I know that I will see her again when I make my own trip through the valley of the shadow and across the final river.
No, the suicide was harder because my coworker was only a year older than me. He left behind five children, a wife, and an ex-wife. And his parents. And his siblings. And the man had so many people (non-relatives) who cared about him. If only he had reached out and been vulnerable, transparent with just one of them. If only he had sought some professional help when things began to feel overwhelming.
I have a long familiarity with the effects of suicide on those who knew the person. When I was 18, a woman whom I thought of as almost a second mother killed herself. I’m sure that lady never dreamed that her suicide would touch someone unrelated like me. But it shadowed my life for years. And now, in the past two years, I’ve had three more friends or acquaintances commit suicide. In every case, they have shut out those would would have been honoured to help them bear their burdens.
Suicide is horrible. But some of the things that people say about people who commit suicide are, in my opinion, much more horrible. I understand that they are angry and hurt. But I think back to my own suicide attempt at the age of 16, and I know that the person who commits this act is desperate. They are so deep in despair, they are in such a dark pit of pain and hurt, that they see nothing but their pain. They can’t see the way out. They can’t see anything but the endless pain, whether it’s physical or psychological, and they just want to make the pain stop. Suicide seems so reasonable.
To those who would say that suicide is “selfish,” I can tell you that the whole time you are making your plans, you are thinking of how much better everyone will be without you. Of how your being “out of the way” and “no longer a bother” will benefit everyone. If your problems are compounded by financial stresses, you may even think “when they get the insurance money, everything will be okay for them.” So in the mind of the suicide, it’s the ultimate altruism.
And while my own attempt was fueled by what I can now see as utterly trivial adolescent foolishness — though it has value, as it has fueled my attempts to protect my own children from bullying — the fact is that my pain was excruciating to me. I hurt so bad, and I could see no way out. (How do you escape when the problem is that you are completely unlikeable and socially worthless? If people hate you that much, wouldn’t the world be a better place without you?) Had that pain been combined with financial stresses, job stresses, family worries, or any of the myriad other concerns that an adult faces … well, had it been compounded by any of that, I probably would have made sure I succeeded.
The suicide of my “second mother” showed me the cruel pain inflicted on even the most distant acquaintance by the loss of a friend. Last year’s suicide of an online friend, a young man who was just at the beginning of his life, reinforced my understanding of the hurt suffered by those left behind. And the more recent suicide of my co-worker reminds me yet again.The real victims of suicide are those left behind by the person who takes his own life.
Today, I read that Rick Warren’s son committed suicide. I weep for that family. Because their path over the next several years is going to be an extremely difficult and painful one. They have lost someone they loved. And the “why,” even if you are privileged to have it shared with you, is never enough.
Being a poet, I wrote a poem as I processed all the difficult emotions of this week — and all of the emotions from the past that this week dredged up. It is a sonnet about suicide and what drives those who commit it.
Surrounded by the tragedies of life
And sinking underneath the painful load
Of death and pain, frustration, fear, and strife
Sometimes it seems a weary, lonely road.
And some there are who cannot bear the strain,
Whose hearts and minds are broken by their cares;
Consumed by burdens they cannot sustain,
Their courage withers and their soul despairs.
Succumbing to temptation, they give in
To death’s false promises of easy peace
They seek their own destruction as an end
A way to make their agony to cease.
But suicide is not an easy end;
As mourners, left behind, will comprehend.
May God bless and keep us all. And may we remember to share each other’s burdens.
Tags: challenges, Christianity, Family Life, news, pain, parenting, poetry, Religion, stress, suicide, True Stories
Death and Suicide
This past week has been a very hard one. About ten days ago, my office was rocked by the shocking news that a former coworker had taken his own life. And on the day when I found out when my coworker’s memorial service would be, I was told that a very dear friend had died from complications due to illness.
So I had two funerals and a visitation to attend this week, one a day starting on Monday. It was … heart-wrenching.
But the harder of the two was the suicide. Not because I cared less for my friend than for my former coworker. Far from it. But my friend had been ill for a long time, and, as we are both Christian ladies, I know that she is now with our Saviour in Heaven, well and happy and no longer in pain. And I know that I will see her again when I make my own trip through the valley of the shadow and across the final river.
No, the suicide was harder because my coworker was only a year older than me. He left behind five children, a wife, and an ex-wife. And his parents. And his siblings. And the man had so many people (non-relatives) who cared about him. If only he had reached out and been vulnerable, transparent with just one of them. If only he had sought some professional help when things began to feel overwhelming.
I have a long familiarity with the effects of suicide on those who knew the person. When I was 18, a woman whom I thought of as almost a second mother killed herself. I’m sure that lady never dreamed that her suicide would touch someone unrelated like me. But it shadowed my life for years. And now, in the past two years, I’ve had three more friends or acquaintances commit suicide. In every case, they have shut out those would would have been honoured to help them bear their burdens.
Suicide is horrible. But some of the things that people say about people who commit suicide are, in my opinion, much more horrible. I understand that they are angry and hurt. But I think back to my own suicide attempt at the age of 16, and I know that the person who commits this act is desperate. They are so deep in despair, they are in such a dark pit of pain and hurt, that they see nothing but their pain. They can’t see the way out. They can’t see anything but the endless pain, whether it’s physical or psychological, and they just want to make the pain stop. Suicide seems so reasonable.
To those who would say that suicide is “selfish,” I can tell you that the whole time you are making your plans, you are thinking of how much better everyone will be without you. Of how your being “out of the way” and “no longer a bother” will benefit everyone. If your problems are compounded by financial stresses, you may even think “when they get the insurance money, everything will be okay for them.” So in the mind of the suicide, it’s the ultimate altruism.
And while my own attempt was fueled by what I can now see as utterly trivial adolescent foolishness — though it has value, as it has fueled my attempts to protect my own children from bullying — the fact is that my pain was excruciating to me. I hurt so bad, and I could see no way out. (How do you escape when the problem is that you are completely unlikeable and socially worthless? If people hate you that much, wouldn’t the world be a better place without you?) Had that pain been combined with financial stresses, job stresses, family worries, or any of the myriad other concerns that an adult faces … well, had it been compounded by any of that, I probably would have made sure I succeeded.
The suicide of my “second mother” showed me the cruel pain inflicted on even the most distant acquaintance by the loss of a friend. Last year’s suicide of an online friend, a young man who was just at the beginning of his life, reinforced my understanding of the hurt suffered by those left behind. And the more recent suicide of my co-worker reminds me yet again.The real victims of suicide are those left behind by the person who takes his own life.
Today, I read that Rick Warren’s son committed suicide. I weep for that family. Because their path over the next several years is going to be an extremely difficult and painful one. They have lost someone they loved. And the “why,” even if you are privileged to have it shared with you, is never enough.
Being a poet, I wrote a poem as I processed all the difficult emotions of this week — and all of the emotions from the past that this week dredged up. It is a sonnet about suicide and what drives those who commit it.
May God bless and keep us all. And may we remember to share each other’s burdens.
Tags: challenges, Christianity, Family Life, news, pain, parenting, poetry, Religion, stress, suicide, True Stories