I had this brother, see. He committed suicide 14
years ago, an event I can honestly describe, with no melodrama or exaggeration,
as the worst thing I've ever experienced. He took himself out in such a way that
his body was not discovered for three months. Three long months in which I
learned, the whole family learned, that "the worst thing is not knowing" isn't
just a cliche', and the true meaning of the word HORROR.
Grieving a suicide is unlike any other kind of grieving,
because on top of the sorrow is a pile of anger and guilt. Sorrow because he was
gone, guilt because I didn't see clear to stop it. Anger because I felt betrayed
and slighted and because of the damage the whole sorry mess did to my parents
and my sister and his sons and me. What a selfish prick, I thought. Not only did
he decide to exit stage left, he did it in such a way that we were all dragged
through three months of fear and grief and uncertainty. Search parties and
search dogs and police reports; false reports of sightings and bank activity
that raised hopes, only to see them dashed. More guilt because I felt relieved
when he was confirmed dead; not the outcome we wanted, but better than not
knowing.
A little more anger
swirling around the fact that in addition to the anniversary of his death, in
August, there's the anniversary of the discovery of what was left of him, which
is in November. Anniversaries are hard, and we have two of them. This last
August was especially difficult; it's the 19th, and this year a week or two
before it fell a celebrity killed himself. High-profile suicides are horrible
for survivors, for they bring about the inevitable flood of do-gooding self-help
nonsense where everyone tries to convince themselves that it would never happen
to them. Look for the signs! These are the red flags! Here are the warnings!
The reality is that someone who
means to take themselves out don't give you a heads-up. They don't drop hints.
People who are trying to get attention do this; the ones who mean business go
off somewhere and do the deed as quickly and efficiently as possible. People
will argue with me about this; those people are dead wrong.
Anyway, the histrionic do-gooding is really difficult
because it's feels like we're being admonished. We missed the signs, ignored the
portents, ran passed the red flags, dropped the ball. We didn't, because that's
all crap, but that's what it feels like. And as much as I tried to ignore it all
last August sometimes it's just unavoidable, so on top of the guilt and the
anger and the grief I already carry around, more guilt is piled.
So this year I prayed. I have a few basic
prayers: God grant me wisdom, God grant me strength, and Please Jesus help me
not to be such an asshole (h/t to Anne Lamott for this one.) To this I added,
"Please help me lose this anger. This particular burden would ease if the anger
was gone."
Funny thing, prayers;
sometimes you get what you asked for, but make a mental note to add a caveat
next time that the vehicle by which the thing is delivered not be unpleasant. My
request was granted in the form of excruciating pain.
The expurgated explanation: my brother hurt his back as a
very young man, and as a result suffered with severe chronic pain nearly all of
his adult life. I knew about his injury, and the one botched surgery plus the
additional ones to fix the first one. I knew he went to a rehab hospital for
pain management after drugs stopped working. I knew he could never sit for more
than 20 minutes and had to either get up and walk around or lay on the floor. I
knew he had to quit working. I knew these things, but I did not really understand until
I twisted the wrong way and ended up with a bulging discs and sciatica that
didn't respond to steroids or physical therapy.
It hurts so bad sometimes I can't think straight. My heart
starts pounding; I get flushed and hot. I get the shakes, I get nauseous; I hold
my breath and then I get light-headed. All because I sat too long or moved the
wrong way.
At some point I realized that
my brother had this for 20 years, and had been told there was nothing else they
could do for him. This is what he felt like, I thought to myself, except it was
worse. Day in, day out, every day for 20 years and no end in sight. Well, hell,
I thought. No wonder he opted to bow out. I can't say I blame him. I can't say I
wouldn't do the same thing.
So now
I'm not angry at him anymore, and that particular load is no longer quite as
heavy.
