Suicide: You Are Not Exempt

“Suicide is one of those things that happens to someone else’s family.” - Marijke Durning.

Did you know that we’re right smack dab in the middle of Quebec’s Suicide Prevention Week? I didn’t. Being in The States, I am sometimes ignorant to the mental health-related awareness weeks in other parts of the world. Fortunately I read Marijke Durning’s Psychological and emotional pain doesn’t have to equal suicide and found out it was Suicide Prevention Week in Quebec.

I also found out how very accurate and inaccurate the above quote is: “Suicide is one of those things that happens to someone else’s family.”

Let the following message from Marijke explain to you why it’s both accurate and inaccurate. Consider this an exclusive look at how one life works to carry on after another life is taken. Allow this message to open your eyes to suicide - how very real it is, regardless of who’s family it strikes.

Above all else, recognize this survivor’s strength and honesty.

And now, Marijke…

Suicide was a word that my family has known for a while. In the late 1970s, when I was 17 years old, one of my siblings attempted to take his life, but I found him before he died. The whole event affected me greatly although we all just continued as if nothing had happened.

I thought about it from time to time and, if the subject came up, I would talk about it, but otherwise, it was just another event in my life. That is, until February, 2005, when my younger brother – another sibling – did take his life; he hung himself.

Suicide is one of those things that happens to someone else’s family. It’s whispered about, it’s speculated about, but it’s not really talked about. Until it happens to you.

The day after I found out that my brother had died, I was in a local store and I bumped into a childhood friend who also knew my brother. We exchanged hellos and the standard, “how are you?” I remember responding, “fine,” and then leaving. When I got home, that answer haunted me. I wasn’t fine. We weren’t fine. Things were not fine. I called that friend and told her what had happened.

This exchange opened my eyes to how it can be hard to talk about a family member who committed suicide. When you speak to people and they ask about a deceased family member, they say something like, “that was unexpected, what happened?” The last thing they expect to hear – and I dare say, the last thing they want to hear – is that the person died of his or her own hand. If you do answer “suicide,” there’s an awkward silence and you see it in their face – they want to know how, but they don’t dare ask.

I don’t have an issue talking about my brother’s suicide – in fact, I’m encouraged to by the reactions I get. Suicide is something that needs to be talked about, needs to be discussed, and needs to be brought to the forefront. But, whenever I do talk or write about it, I imagine what he looked like. I imagine what his final moments were like. I imagine and I pray that he didn’t change his mind when it was too late. It’s the image of him hanging that stays in my mind, although I didn’t actually see him. It’s the image of him being alone that stays with me. It’s the image that just won’t leave me.

Because of many circumstances in his life, my brother felt alone. Over the course of a few years, my husband and I tried to help him as best we could. Sadly though, we lost touch. He knew where I was – I didn’t always know where he was. He chose a life that couldn’t be reconciled with the life I led with my family and I had my own family to care for.

It must have been about six years since I’d spoken to him when I received the call that he was dead. To be very honest, I almost expected him to die young. Considering some of the life choices he made, I really wasn’t surprised about that. What did surprise me, what did devastate me, was that he chose to die. He chose to take his own life.

My brother is now buried on the mountain in the middle of Montreal. I chose to buy a plot near my father-in-law so my brother would never be alone again. The weight of his ashes stunned me. I never imagined how heavy human ashes were. As I carried his ashes to the cemetery for his burial, as I said my good-byes, all I could do was cry and say that I was so very sorry. Sorry for his loneliness, sorry for his path in life, sorry for not being there, and sorry for having to say good-bye in this way.

Three years later, I’m still working on getting him a headstone. I don’t know what to put on it when I do get it. I just hope he’s not alone any more.

Rest in peace JP. I love you. I always did.

Marijke Durning is a Registered Nurse and medical writer. As a self-described “nurse-turned-writer,” Marijke combines her medical knowledge and passion for helping people. You can get to know Marijke with a little help from both of her blogs: http://www.helpmyhurt.com and http://medhealthwriter.blogspot.com.

For more help and information regarding suicide and prevention, check out the following resources:

• Suicide Awareness Voices of Education
• American Foundation for Suicide Prevention
• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
• Yellow Ribbon
• Suicide Prevention Resource Center

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