A Month Late, But Still Relevant

I have about a dozen half-written blog posts and several almost-finished ones. Why haven’t I published them? I have no idea. Welcome to the scattered, messy, sometimes overly-emotional, sometimes numb and apathetic brain space that is grief. 

I wanted to write some thoughts about Suicide Prevention Month, which is the month of September, which I’m well aware is now over. 😬 But I also know this topic is always relevant, so I think it’s still worth the read. 

The month of September is hard for me because it is the month when Luke went into intensive treatment for depression and suicide. His treatment continued through much of October. This was the time of year filled with shock, horror, dread, anxiety, fear, hope and possibilities. 

It was Luke’s first experience with depression and it quickly spiraled to a suicide attempt. It was our first time getting our child a psychiatric evaluation, doing an intensive treatment program and hospitalization. This was a new world for us. Reminders of that kind of trauma stick with you, stay in your body and brain. I am not always aware consciously when those memories are triggered, but I feel it in my body and in my emotions. Sending kids back to school, the changing temperatures, falling leaves—all these are signals that alert my brain. So, I’m feeling it. I’m a little more teary, a little more sad, and have had some weird aches and pains that I think are related. 

In the days, weeks and months after Luke passed, there were so many emotions to sort through. I remember not being able to think about anything else. Every minute of every day was consumed with questions and trying to make sense of it all. Suicide is like a mystery that can’t be solved, but it compels you to spend every ounce of energy you have trying. Not only are you trying to answer unanswerable questions, but you’re still dealing with the shock of an unexpected and untimely death and all the emotions that come with that. 

I wish I could adequately convey the enormity and magnitude of this kind of grief. It was a kind of mental anguish I have never experienced and can’t adequately describe except to say that I had a moment of panic, a breakdown of sorts, where I truly said in my mind, I can’t do this for the rest of my life. I can’t do this. It’s too hard. And no one around me understands. 

And in that moment of exhaustion and despair and fear, it became clear that this might be exactly what my son felt. That’s what a depressed and suicidal person feels. 

Suicide prevention starts with empathy. 

When I realized that’s how Luke must have felt, my eyes opened and I felt so much love and compassion. I just wanted to hug him again and say, “I think I understand.” I am grateful that I have felt no anger toward him and no judgment. Just love and deep sadness for his pain. Those feelings came immediately after he died and have only intensified in the 23 months since. It’s one of the greatest gifts in grief that I have experienced. 

Back to suicide prevention. There is no magic formula that can prevent all suicides. Obviously, I believe strongly in treating the underlying mental illness that is at the root of most suicides. That requires professionals. But for the rest of us, learn empathy. See these individuals and respect them for the Hell they are going through, because that’s what it is. Don’t judge. It might help them see the light ahead. It might help them not feel so alone. It might help them believe there are people who understand and care. If it doesn’t help them, it will help you. You will be better for learning to walk in someone else’s shoes and having compassion. You will be better for being a friend. You will be better for trying. 

I’m a better person for having known Luke. I’m grateful for all he is still teaching me. 💗