National Suicide
Prevention Lifeline
Ray and I
recently came back from a trip to bid farewell to an extended family member, a
charming, compassionate, loving 31-year-old young man who committed suicide. I
can’t begin to really understand what leads a person to this sort of utter and
complete hopelessness, especially at such a tender age (or even much younger,
as has happened with others to whom we’ve had to say goodbye). But I came away
with the same thoughts that have been niggling at me for…well…years, really:
1. The
Elephant Circle – The brain is not fully developed until about age 25 (probably
later for young people who have also struggled with substance abuse before this
age). Until that age, when the nerve fibers in the brain are fully myelinated
(a fatty coating), young people have a hard time seeing the potential
consequences of their actions. For this reason, I believe we need to keep young
people in the center of the circle. Like elephants, we adults need to surround
them with love and protection (even from themselves), until we’re SURE they can
fend off the hyenas (despair, drugs, alcohol, gangs, whatever shape the hyenas
take) on their own. This ability to be independent will come at different times
for different kids—there’s no definitive magic moment, so we need to be
vigilant with EVERY kid.
2. The Abyss
Mirage – Imagine you look down the road ahead of you, but you can’t see where
it leads. For most of us, it’s foggy ahead; we know the road goes on, we know
there’s more stuff ahead, we just can’t see the details. But some people, it
seems to me, look down the road and, for maybe only a split-second, see an
abyss. Nothing. The void. And in that split-second, they do the only thing they
can to escape that moment of complete despair. Maybe it’s not about ending life
(because impulsive thought doesn’t see that); it’s about ending pain. Now.
Someone said once that dogs have only two senses of time: now and not now.
Maybe people who kill themselves see only now, and now is pain. They can’t see not now. They can’t see that the Abyss
is a mirage, and there’s ice cream and sex and chocolate and music on the other
side.
3. Pre-Funerals
– As people from all over the country exchanged memories at the funeral, broken
and aching over this young man’s death, I wondered how his life might have gone
if we had all gathered 5, or 10, or 15 years ago to surround and enfold him
with the same love, desperation to protect and defend, fierce loyalty, and open
hearts we were all baring in the funeral home. Had this young man known how
many lives he touched? how much he was loved? what joy he brought us? So I’m
thinking we should have pre-funerals, a sort of It’s a Wonderful Life for any human who’s getting too close to the
Abyss. Maybe there’s a panic button you can push at the first sign of trouble.
Maybe you can even help bake your own reception bars.
Anyway, here’s
a poem I wrote after our son’s best friend fell into the Abyss at age 19. Let’s
form our circles, people...
SUPPLICATION
TO THE SUICIDES
for Ike
You will
wake up tomorrow and the sun will be up.
Stores will open. Some idiot
will forget to signal
his turn. There will be dishes
to do. You’ll get a job
offer in Big Sky, Montana.
This
will all get easier. Then it will get harder
again. Then it will get easier
again.
That girl
you love will leave her next boyfriend too.
Your mother
is canning peaches right now.
She will need you here to eat
them.
The
pain you feel now comes from a cauldron
of teenage chemicals swirling
through you like bad
soup,
like toxic river water, like grain alcohol, like Drano.
It will eventually push
through your system, and you will
be able to laugh and think
straight again.
Remember
that time I stomped in your house and screamed
in your face and jabbed at you
with my finger? I really
wanted to hug you and lock you
up and never let you go.
Going to the
zoo is almost as much fun at 35 as it is at 13.
It will one
day be a mystery to you that you ever felt this bad.
I
don’t know if there’s an afterlife. But
what if you have to watch the
chain
of sorrows you leave behind?
The
belt will burn and cut into your neck. The pain
will be unbearable before you
black out.
You’ll pee your pants.
You’ll change your mind.
You won’t be able to stop it.
I love the
way your hair flips to the side, and the way
you look sideways when you
grin, and the way
my youngest son’s heart opens
up around you.
That girl
you love will end up with four kids from three fathers.
She’ll work at Walmart and
live over her parents’ garage.
She’ll try and fail to kick
meth. Her kids will be taken away.
Or
That girl
you love will end up married to a banker
and will live on a lake and
have a housekeeper.
Or
That girl
you love will be in therapy for the rest of her life.
Or
That girl
you love will use your memory like a crucible
in which she’ll stew future
boyfriends and cook up
excuses for sleeping with her
future husband’s boss.
After your
sister died, your mother stayed alive for you.
We are only
here for a blink anyway. Can’t you wait that long?
My son will
have a redheaded child. She’ll skateboard.
She’ll be beautiful and jolly
and full of mischief.
He’ll take her to the
skatepark in Lennox.
He’ll cry because you’re not
here to hold her.
You’re my
child. You’re everyone’s child. We will all be broken.
You’ll fall
in love again and again and again. You might have twins.
They’ll be skinny and blonde
and hold your hand.
You’ll rock them to sleep with
Jack Johnson lullabies.
When they’re 15, they’ll say we hate you.
You’ll try to keep a straight
face.
Your
mother’s smile will be manufactured and hard for the rest of her life.
You are so
full of love and light and promise that it burns
our fingers to touch you. We
are moths and choose
winglessness over being
without you.
My son will
carry you like a scar,
like a confession,
like a stone in his gut.
Forever.
Someone will
have to take a picture of your body.
There is
nowhere else to go.
Please,
please stay.
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