On Suicide

Last night came the news that fills the airwaves, Twitterverse and conversations today: actor and comedian Robin Williams died yesterday in what authorities and his family believe was a suicide. His final act, that of taking his own life, is now the most discussed and analyzed moment of his life.

The reactions to this news have been, well, predictable. And of those was one comment I saw as I read through my Facebook friends’ status posts on his death: “Sad, but predictable.”

I do not know the man who posted this comment to one of the posts of one of my colleagues. It is surely possible his reaction comes from a sadly-experienced knowledge of suicide from someone close to him. All suicides, like all lives, are different. But there is something sad and wrong about that sentiment—one which so many share even if they don’t say it out loud. Something that I also used to agree with.

Until two months ago. On Sunday, June 15, 2014 (Father’s Day—more about that later) my mother discovered that my brother Dan had taken his own life. Later when we attempted to reconstruct a timeline of Dan’s last days, we came to believe his life most likely ended in the early morning hours of Friday, June 13^th.

I used to think suicide was fairly predictable. I used to believe it was the crescendo of a life of depression, pain and burdens which could no longer be born. It is some of that. And perhaps sometimes it is predictable. But mostly, I believe, it is not.

Suicide is not predictable because though there is often a certain twisted logic to it, no reasonable assessment of the circumstances shows that it is the only option even in the darkest of times. And many people find themselves in such dark places and come out of it. As I read about suicide after Dan’s death, I was surprised to discover that the most common sentiment of those who attempt suicide (those who fail in their attempt and live to tell the story) is not decisiveness, but rather ambivalence. I always figured someone would weigh all options before turning to the option of last resort. For most people, however, this seems not to be the case.

I had learned, in my training working in residence life at two colleges and as a pastor, that people who decide to commit suicide often have a peace about them once they made the decision. That led me to believe the decision was one that bought closure and peace, and one which was thought out in advance. You know, you see in the movies that people decide, make plans, write a note, etc.

Yes, for some people, that is how it happens. The hours and days leading up to their suicide can in retrospect provide many clues. The problem is for most of us, who do not struggle daily with depression and anxiety that clouds our emotions and thoughts, we don’t walk around keyed into such signs. Even more, for many people, they do not decide until the moment they act. And, in fact, are not, even in that moment, what we would consider “decided.” Their actions are not the well-thought-out plans of a reasonable though clouded assessment of their lives. Seeing before them several options, they, in that moment, chose to try one. The thing is, for most, there is no un-doing it.

Some reports say that only a third or fewer people who commit suicide leave suicide notes. My brother did not. And the truth is, even a note wouldn’t give you what was all in their minds—and in many cases such notes fail to offer peace or even a reasoning that is logical or comforting to those left behind.

Indeed, in the vast majority of cases of suicide, there ARE clues. Or risk factors. Robin Williams had at least three: a history of mental illness, a recent major medical procedure (a heart procedure—such procedures can wreak havoc on the already-fragile chemical balance of someone with mental illness) and a recent addiction relapse and treatment.

My brother was dealing with many stresses in his final days. Financial pressures were overwhelming (I don’t know for certain precisely how these weighed on him but I know just learning the depth of these stressed me out after his death). Though he faced a welcome change in his job (Dan was a United Methodist pastor and was about to start a two new churches), the list of things to be attended to for the transition was enormous. And perhaps most overwhelming of all, our father had died a year earlier of a sudden heart attack (and our paternal grandfather had died several months later). For all that weighed on Dan, I cannot find it to be coincidental that he took his life Father’s Day weekend.

Given all of those pressures, though, was Dan’s suicide predictable? And if so, at what point did it become so? Was it when he was conceived and born—was his DNA and inherited body chemistry such that he was a ticking time bomb? Was it as we all lived through our father’s horrific struggle with bipolar depression, which Dan at times bore the brunt of, and which threatened to take my father’s life during the more than a decade that he struggled to get well? Was Dan’s suicide predictable when he contemplated suicide in college but reached out for help and received treatment that set him on a healthy path that lasted a long time? Was it predictable when he heard a call to ministry, a profession with some rather intimidating rates of mental illness, stress and anxiety?

Was Dan’s suicide predictable the moment our father died—a father he had worked years to rebuild a relationship with? A father who was perhaps one of the few people who really “got” Dan? Was it predictable when I found him sobbing uncontrollably on my front porch the night Dad died? Was it predictable when we consoled ourselves (Dan and I had lived through Dad’s illness more aware than our younger brother and sister because we had been old enough to be aware of what was happening) that at least Dad never had to lose everything all over again—that his mental illness never came back as it had before?

And if any of these things was the point at which Dan’s suicide became predictable, was there anything anyone could have done? What about all the times we tried to help him make better financial decisions—so he didn’t end up in the position he then found himself? What about the times he was encouraged or forced to seek help? And what about all the things that were good about Dan’s life? Were those irrelevant in the span of his life?

What about all the friends Dan had and the lives he touched? What about all the notes of thanks for his ministry that we found throughout his office (which he had received over the years—not just as he prepared for his transition)? What about his joy in being an uncle and the adoration my girls had for him? What about the closeness we shared as siblings after the struggles we had walked through together? What about ALL THE PEOPLE who had reached out to him over the years who he KNEW were there to help him. Why weren’t these good things as equally predictive for his actions?

I do not believe Dan’s death was predictable. Because I believe many people fight the same demons and do not, in one final act, make their most tragic decision. I don’t think Dan should be let off the hook for his final, worst decision. I believe he was hurting and I wish we had known how seriously he was considering suicide. Dan HAD had a rough year, especially in recent months. But he was getting better. Actually, truly getting better. I believe he had begun taking better care of himself--physically and also his mental health, attending to his medications and habits better. Perhaps it was just as things were getting better that he began to recognize the cost of some of his choices. Maybe it was precisely the getting better and having more energy part that was the final straw (the counselor who has helped me during this time pointed out that suicide requires a certain level of energy that people in the deepest parts of depression often lack).

But I also know, from years with a father who struggled (as far as I was aware, far more severely) with mental illness than Dan ever did, that mental illness is hard, long, and wearying for the person suffering and those around them. And I know that there are times of joy and peace and hope even in the worst struggles with it, and that the vast majority of people are able to battle it successfully, some even heroically.

I believe that if Dan were here today, he would mourn his final act as much if not more than any of us. I believe that even with all that was burdening him, he would say he did not fully understand the consequences of his actions. I believe he would say he wished he HAD reached out. And done something, anything, differently. And certainly made a different final decision in those moments. I believe he would not have wanted our mother to bear the grief she carries, and he would have been horrified with the legacy and story that is now part of his nieces' lives because of his final decision.

I do not believe suicide is either a valiant or predictable action. I believe that if you are struggling today with stresses, illness and burdens that seem overwhelming, you can find help and live a life not controlled by those. It may (and likely will be) some hard work. I know that because my father was there too. He did pay a heavy price for his illness and his choices, but he walked through it—even from the point of seriously considering suicide. If suicide is merely predictable, we would have lost Dad many, many years earlier.

I have been pondering what to say about suicide, and I hadn’t been ready to yet, but I felt compelled to today as it is a topic on people’s minds. Indeed, I worry my thoughts and feelings are still to raw and I feel incredible pressure to say things the right way. I am sure there are better words to be said, but these are what I have today.

In the wake of Dan’s death, the Rob Thomas song, “Maybe Someday,” became a powerful reminder to me of the importance of living out loud. Of sharing with each other and being open to asking for help. My prayer is that losses like Dan and Robin Williams, though they can never be redeemed or made right for those left behind, can become an impetus for us to talk openly about mental health, become aware of resources out there, make us compassionate towards one another, and understand that we have meaningful choices to make that have consequences not only for our own lives but for the lives of those around us and indeed the world.

If you are struggling with depression or having thoughts of suicide, please reach out. You can reach the suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-8255 or by visiting http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/. Many local communities and basically all college campuses also have their own hotlines as well. If you feel on the verge of hurting yourself, you can also call 911.

If you are dealing with a loved one who is struggling with mental illness, or you, like me, have lost someone to suicide, there are also many resources for you as well. Find a counselor or support group in your area. Don’t keep it in.

Two resources I found helpful in the wake of Dan’s suicide were:

http://www.suicidology.org/c/document_library/get_file?folderId=229&name=DLFE-73.pdf

http://eatthinkbemerry.com/2014/06/a-perspective-on-suicide/

You do not walk this journey alone. Ever.

Grace and Peace.

Sarah