She told me she was angry and sad and she couldn't understand how he could do that to his kids. Why didn't he reach out? Why didn't he try to get help? didn't he realize how angry and upset people would be?
I listened to her and calmly said, "Sonja, there was nothing anyone could have done. You don't know that he didn't reach out. And if he did, he didn't find what he needed among the people he knew."
Her eyes teared up and she said, "But his two little kids. What will their lives be like? What are they going to think knowing their father committed suicide?"
I chose my words carefully. "Sonja, Bill had arrived at the conclusion that his kids' lives would not be better by having him here. The truth is, he was in so much pain that not even his love for his children could make it bearable."
I thought, Why don't you understand that this isn't about making other people feel happy or comfortable? After all I've tried to teach you, why don't you accept this simple fact: People kill themselves because they want the pain to stop.
She tried one more "Why didn't he/how could he..." and I had a calm, measured response to that, too. She was getting angry. She should have known she chose the wrong person to have this conversation with if what she wanted was someone to validate her sense of guilt and helplessness regarding Bill's unwillingness to endure his situation. First, I don't have much tolerance for people who stigmatize death. I believe everyone would be just as sad had Bill died of a heart attack. A heart attack doesn't make people examine their own role in the relationship, though, and it is that reflection that is at the root of the discomfort Sonja is feeling.
Why didn't he reach out? When Bill started to unravel, Sonja distanced herself and told him to get help. He rebounded briefly, but after admitting that he wasn't doing as well as he appeared, Sonja distanced herself again. She talked about his demise and said he was messed up and pathetic. Several months ago, Bill left Sonja a voicemail saying he was selling everything and taking off--he had no idea where.
When she retrieved the message, she got angry and very agitated, saying, "Who does this? What is that supposed to mean? That's not fair. You can't just leave someone a message like that!" Not that she picked up the phone and tried to call him back to see if he was, in fact, reaching out. From my perspective, it seemed that Sonja had soundly rejected Bill's attempts at asking for help. How could she possibly feel any anger about his suicide?
She looked at me and said, "Look, it's just that, that someone I cared about* died and I feel sad and, and..."
I said, "Yes, I know you do. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry you feel bad."
She left abruptly.
Later, I sent her this message:
I am sorry that you hurt right now. I do understand that you feel a loss in your world and that it’s sad and emotional. It must be hard to know that someone you cared about rejected everything and everyone in his world in one swift stroke.
Personally, I can’t say that another’s suicide is terrible or was a mistake. It doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings about it when it happens, although I am aware I may sound clinical and detached. It’s just that I cannot question and cannot judge the depths of someone else’s pain. As humans, we do not have the capacity for that kind of emotional insight. I do understand, though, how it feels to be judged, dismissed, and second-guessed—Trust me, having the people you know invalidate your reality only adds to an already excruciating discomfort. Perhaps this is among the reasons Bill didn’t go to the people who cared about him most—he knew there was no chance for objective assistance in his emotional state.
People in crisis know they can act on their desire to stop the unbearable emotional pain, but they also know it is dangerous to talk about it. It may be the only punishable “thought crime” in our society. Some of us know that it is too easy to be misunderstood by those who don’t grasp the complexity of the inner conversation that takes place while working toward a solution—whether that solution is life or death. It is very possible that the reason Bill didn’t reach out was that he didn’t want anyone else to judge him or to take away his right to control his own decisions, his own life. Ultimately, it was his decision and it was a decision that spoke clearly of his despair and inability to see any other way to stop his pain—he concluded that no one he knew had whatever it was he needed.
I know that what I am saying is of little or no comfort—I apologize for that. I am sorry you lost someone you cared about. Since I no longer possess a comforting demeanor anymore, let me at least offer some information.
May I suggest some very good reading? It was understanding that brought me some peace in my own troubled soul. These are not bereavement books; they are psycho-social analyses that all attempt to answer the question, “But why?” They do a good job of it, too.
Night Falls Fast
Kay Redfield Jamison
My preferred work on the subject.
I met Dr. Jamison a couple of years ago, I was grateful to have the opportunity to tell her that she was one of the three people responsible for keeping me alive. This book helped me understand that it was biology that had betrayed me so badly—not my character. Skip the part about Meriwether Lewis—it’s not that helpful.
The Suicidal Mind
Edwin Shneidman
November of the Soul: The Enigma of Suicide
George Howe Colt
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