Suicide, The Conversation

Photo by Felix Russell-Saw on Unsplash

Featured in the Dayton Daily News

My oldest brother Pat, died in 1983 at the age of 30 by suicide. We were aware of his struggles with depression, but could’ve never fathomed his intentional exit from our world. Following his death, my remaining two brothers, my sister and I made a pact. We promised one another we would never again allow despair to go unchecked. We would support each other no matter what.

The void of Pat’s place in our family was inadequately consoled by our commitment to love and care for one another. We restructured our sibling unit, and the place each occupied became sacred. My brother Gerry was the strong one. My sister Kathy was the heart. I was the caregiver, and Neil, my second older brother was the delight.

We established the four pillars of individuality supported by the crossbeams of our vow to one another. Neil intuitively knew when the brokenness of life needed mending. He brought laughter, love of celebration, and eyes of understanding to our most challenging family struggles. He seemed invincible. And then came the unthinkable.

At the age of 57, Neil took his life. Other than raw shock, we were left with so many unanswered questions, not the least of which was how could he leave us knowing the heartache of suicide’s wake? Neil didn’t have a mental illness diagnosis, but in the days following his death, we felt the reality of his depressed spirit. In other words, he didn’t embody the risk factors associated with suicidal behavior. Yet, it became acutely evident that somewhere along his life road, whether by unmet expectations or feelings of failure, my brother found himself desiring nothing more than to be relieved from his pain. He drowned by the drip, drip, drip of anguish right in front of us, and for years we didn’t see it. 

Following Neil’s death, the loss of two brothers to suicide felt jarring. I began to write about my family experience. After my essay was published in the Dayton Daily News regarding my family’s very personal experiences with suicide, I was invited to join with others who knew too well this world of loss. My community involvement with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention has been therapeutic and educational. The common denominator in suicide is hopelessness and desire of freedom from internal agony. Whether caused by a chemical imbalance of the brain or a life path that chisels the soul, the cultivation of depression can implode within an increasing fragile mind. Eventually, if left untreated, it may lead to a distortion of life seen through the lens of failure, exhaustion, and disconnection even from those most loved. 

It’s hard to imagine how the dark byproduct of severe and chronic desolation can lead to a choice to die. People who have unsuccessfully attempted suicide say they thought the world would be better off without them, leaving the rest of us shaking our heads. The tragedy of suicide is imagining how one could whittle away their self-value to the point of nothingness. Justifying a choice to exit life while there is a place for you at the table of authenticity speaks to the power of persuasive brokenness. 

Since the death of Robin Williams to suicide in 2014, we have learned together. We understand now that although mental health is often seen as precursor to suicide, taking one’s life is rarely caused by any single factor. In fact, many who die by suicide do not have a diagnosed mental illness. Life stories ending in intentional death are complicated. They evolve over time, and the tendency to chalk it up to mental illness alone may miss the deeper opportunity to understand.

We have learned suicide transcends all societal or economic boundaries. High profile suicides like Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade remind us of our collective human experience. We need to be careful in the aftermath of public mourning not to snorkel in our discussion of the issue. Although the increase in media attention to suicide awareness is encouraging, we need to resist the urge to simplify the cause or overlook the need for deeper, more thorough discussions. There is a continuum of circumstances that factor into death by choice. Each unique story of suicide is ultimately about the surrender to the voices in their head, the stifled ability to breathe, or the heaviness of their hearts.

None of us are that different from those experiencing crippling despair. We need to cast a wide net in attempt to understand this epidemic affecting all reaches of our society. 

So, what can we do? First, let’s talk about it. The stakes in our collective community are too high not to encourage discussion. According to the AFSP, ending life on purpose is the third leading cause of death in young people 15-24 years old. Each day, 22 veterans die by suicide, prompting the Veterans Administration to create programs designed to reduce such incidence within the military family. 44,193 Americans die by suicide each year. Most alarming is that for every suicide, there are 25 attempts. Let’s talk about all facets of depression, despair or mental illness the same way we talk about cancer or heart disease. Let’s lift the veil of shame so often associated with buried feelings of despair. Let’s ask those who suffer from crippling misery to help the rest of us understand what it really feels like. Let’s not be afraid to “go there” and listen. All of us can benefit from an increased awareness as we give voice to suicide related issues. People who consider ending their lives move among us, so the more we offer one another a soft place to land, the better chance we have to reach into the secret closets of despondency and flick on the light. Illumination creates openness and pauses to help the profoundly depressed among us, perhaps even helping to heal the deepest crevices of pain. The potential to restore desire for living is a difficult for some, yet if we all extend our reach in solidarity, perhaps we can offer a lifeline. The challenge for people in the throes of sadness is to remember we are all in this big imperfect life together.

We have also learned that words are important. People don’t “commit” suicide as if they had criminal intent. Rather, acknowledging their pain and journey towards despondency opens an opportunity for compassion. Riding the ripple effect towards empathy and kindness offers acceptance for people who are suffering, and a deeper understanding of their unique circumstances. For the thousands and thousands of us who have been touched by suicide, describing the death of our loved one as “committed” yields even more sadness. I try not to rest in the world of guilt or regret regarding my brothers’ losses. I think about the last time I saw Neil. We lingered on my back porch following a simple summer dinner. I could tell his eyes were dimming and he exhibited a restlessness in demeanor. He died three days later. It’s been 6 years since we lost him and 34 years since we lost Pat. As I find myself becoming more involved with the local AFSP, connection with others who understand is cathartic. I hear a replay of my mother’s voice in my head propelling me to remain in the light of my brothers’ lives. “Good comes from everything,” she used to say despite her very deep and personal loss. For many who bear the burden of despair, my hope is that they are somehow able to create distance between the anguish residing in their soul and the hope that awaits them if only they would allow vulnerability a chance. Depression doesn’t have to be a death sentence. And for those of us who are now part of the club of heartbreak we didn’t ask to join, we will continue to talk about it and find shared spaces of joy. By doing so, we can join together and be part of the good rising.