Not in a Million Years! But....

This past week, in the course of a conversation with a friend, I mentioned my belief that all our experiences, even the unfavorable and adverse ones, are ultimately for our good. Put more simply: What doesn't kill us makes us stronger! This particular season is always tough for me. The period between Easter and the first week of May, I struggle mightily. Some years are more challenging than others, but every year, the season brings the sights, smells, and sounds that take me back to what was, without question, the saddest time in my life. Two of my five children have been born in this season. I rejoiced when they came to me, and I celebrate their birthdays each year with gracious thanksgiving. Still, there is the undeniable melancholy that hangs next to me during this time, the season in which I lost my dad.

I've felt compelled for quite some time to write about the circumstances of his death. I'm not a psychologist or a counselor or a mental health therapist; I don't claim any academic credentials on the subject. I'm just a daughter and a survivor of one of the most tragic diseases to claim the lives of our fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, and friends. Untreated clinical depression is a deadly disease. People don't like to talk about suicide.They don't even like to think about it. Mere mention of the word makes folks uncomfortable. Enlightened though we may be in this 21st Century, suicide is still a taboo topic. But if we never think about it and never talk about it, how can we make any progress toward preventing it? My desire today is to share a bit of what I've learned in the past 30 years. If you are uncomfortable with my words, I apologize. But if what I say helps even one person in any way, then it is worth any discomfort.

Perhaps the most significant thing I've discovered is that suicide is not a rational act. When someone we love dies by suicide, our natural reaction is to try to figure out why. We so desperately wish to answer that question that we search, sometimes obsessively but always unsuccessfully, to understand. We want to understand. We want it to make sense. Why then are we unsuccessful? Because suicide is not rational. Rational human instinct is for self-preservation. Other than in extremely rare circumstances (such as sacrificing one's life to save one's child), to take one's own life violates human nature at its very core. Attempting to explain an irrational act in rational terms will always be futile. It's no different than asking ourselves after a loved one dies of some other disease, "Why did he get cancer?" or "Why did she get heart disease?" or "Why did he get Parkinson's?"

Why did my dad die by suicide? Why did your loved one? Or yours? Because they were ill. They suffered from clinical depression, a biological disorder, which left untreated, and sometimes sadly even with treatment, can be deadly. Combine it with alcoholism and you have the "perfect storm." Today, with treatment such as cognitive therapy and effective medication, depression can often be successfully managed. But 30 years ago? We barely dared mention the possibility of mental illness. We were only a generation removed from the days when sufferers were locked up and forgotten.

The second thing I've learned is not to blame. As an extension of our desperation to make some sense out of the tragedy, we often seek out someone to blame. If only he had done this or she hadn't done that, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Sometimes we focus inward, blaming ourselves. If only I had been a better daughter or son or spouse or friend. All of this assumes that the act was rational when, in fact, it was not. No one is to blame. Depression is a disease. Our loved one simply succumbed to the disease. Blaming others or ourselves is not only unproductive, it's ridiculous. Equally ridiculous is blaming the victim, him or herself.

Victims of suicide are just that, victims. There's a stereotype of suicide victims that they are flawed somehow, that they are bad or weak or even selfish. Perhaps they didn't care about their families or value those close to them. Perhaps they weren't strong enough to face the trials of life like the rest of us do, or maybe they were just evil and desired to inflict pain. No. No. No. And no! They were ill. Blaming them is as silly as blaming the person who died of cancer. Some people feel that because the act of suicide is deliberate and often well planned out, obviously victims knew what they were doing and are, therefore, responsible. I disagree. The act, whether planned out or not, is one of an ill individual, suffering from a very real and biological disease. Is it all in their heads? Yep! It has something to do with incorrect serotonin levels in the brain. Ironically, the same situation exists for people like me who suffer from anxiety disorders, and often (though not in my case) people who struggle with anxiety also deal with depression. It's real. I promise.

All that said, there are certain characteristics that most of us survivors share as a result of what we've been through. We often have serious trust issues. We know that in an instant, the whole world can come crumbling down around us. Because it did. It did. As a result we are slow to trust, and once our trust is violated, it's nearly impossible to regain. Moreover, we tend to worry more than most people. I've found this to be true even for those who don't have anxiety disorders. We worry about our families. We worry about our friends. We mothers worry incessantly about our children. It's like fear is ever present in our lives despite our every effort to control it. But we move forward in faith, doing our best, secure in the knowledge that all our experiences, even the sad ones, are for our growth.

Today marks yet another anniversary of my dad's death. As usual, the season has been filled with thoughts of him, memories so joyous and ultimately so sad. I loved him very much. If I got to choose, would I wish to have experienced the suicide of one so close to me? Not in a million years! The pain was like no other. But...since that is the hand I was dealt, I'm grateful for the insight it has given me about an illness so vastly misunderstood.