Suicide just sucks, people!

Jazzy Jen sums it up best: horrible. I'm talking about the tragic suicide in the family of Indianapolis Colts head coach Tony Dungy, his own son! I can't imagine the pain they must be in. I grew up in the same town as Tony but never knew him as he was about 8 years older than I. My brother played against him in high school and I can only remember that he said he was quick. I remember how proud of him the town was as he moved into the college and professional levels. Tony was somewhat of a hero to me, such a successful person coming from my blue collar town; a town left behind by the auto industry. He was one of those few bright spots I recall growing up. It really is so sad that this kind of thing has happened to such a great person. Jen also posted this link to a well-written article on ESPN.com.

****************************************************
I know that many of you have been touched by suicide's suffocating tentacles at some point in your lives. If not, please count your blessings and then count them again because you are truly lucky. The anguish, doubt and rage you experience have few equals. I've lost more than I care to ever count: a good family friend, a woman I loved, and I nearly lost my sister, too. There were others I knew from high school but were not necessarily close to; each was one too many. Thankfully, I was spared the most grisly facets of their deaths as they did not occur when I was nearby; however the pain of not being able to pay my respects and mourn with the support of others affected by each loss will remain forever.

I am thankful, too, that I had 5 minutes to kneel beside, pray for, cry, and, well - SEE Mick's face one more time. I could not attend his funeral as my brother had literally JUST entered recovery that week, and my employer at that time would only allow me one day off. As much as it pained me to "abandon" their family at such a disastrous time, I felt that it would be better to be there for my brother, his life could still be saved. My family and Mick's were very close; our parents were the equivalent of "best friends" when you're in elementary school, so I knew him well. We were the same age, went to the same schools, and spent weeks during the summer at their cottage on Lake Michigan. The shadow of mental illness slowly set-upon Mick after his father died when we were in the 10th grade, and through the next 6 years it marched- growing steadily and without quarter- until his life ended that Friday in June.

I was in Albany visiting my fiance' that weekend, and clearly remember my Mom's voice- the hesitation and deep breath she took to brace herself- when she called to give me the news. I had heard that only once before when my couin's first child died from SIDS just minutes after he dropped him off at their daycare. "What's wrong?" I asked as I braced myself. Being locked into an arline itinerary, my only chance for visitation was Sunday evening after my flight got back. I was practically psychotic after my flight arrived early in the evening, I still had to get a taxi to my car, and then drive the 80 minutes back to our hometown.

I arrived in the fading twilight as the last family members were leaving and the director was actually locking-up for the night. I don't really remember parking my car, or closing the door, or even turning it off. I can only clearly remember hugging his sister and falling apart from the explosion of emotion and the thought of not arriving in time. Even after being allowed inside for a few minutes, . . . just not how I wanted to say goodbye.

Mick is buried in a rolling cemetary near where his father is also buried in a quiet corner under majestic old pines. When the wind moves through the trees it sounds as though the spirits are murmuring, yet I can't for the life of me make out their message.

****************************************************
I found out about Karan's death when I returned to college to start my second year. We had met and briefly dated the April before as the school year was finishing. Our plans for the summer took us in separate directions so things ended amicably enough. I ran into her roommate from the previous term and asked about Karan and was met with a simple "She didn't come back." I knew Karan was having a hard go of things that previous term so I just put it in my mind that she dropped out, another one shaken loose from the tree of higher learning. I was not prepared for the news her ex-roomie gave me later that night after she pulled me aside, telling me that there was something she wanted to tell me that afternoon but didn't feel it was the best setting. (Yeah, somehow it was better to pull me aside and break it to me easy when I'm half in the bag, and alone in the dark.) I can't be bitter though, she was very deliberate in not telling me that afternoon and I really can't imagine how heavy the burden of knowing what she did must have been. Poor timing aside, the flood of emotion she released by telling me was just plain huge.

I feel bad that I didn't know her family, that I've never made the time when I drive by her hometown to stop at the library and get the details about where they laid her to rest so I can visit and pay my respects, that the pain in her life was so great that she put the car in the garage and let it carry her to a better place, that her family didn't put an obituary in the paper so her friends could say goodbye, that THAT better place was where no one could ever see her again, that I could never see her again, hold her again, be intoxicated by her presence again, talk til a new day dawned again. Never, again.

Although there are many signs of trouble in someone's life, one of the hardest things to accept is that the average Jim, Jane and Jerry are not trained to see them and often NOBODY sees it coming, and that it is not their fault when someone they love attempts or commits suicide. You learn from it, but you can't let it kill you too because it is what they wanted, and they take careful steps to succeed. Often those that don't are crying out in pain. Before he died, Mick made a number of phone calls to various people, one to my brother asking if they could meet for lunch. Unfortunately he was unable to meet with Mick that day, and Mick died that night. Again- there was no way to see that Mick was saying goodbye, but it haunts my brother still.

Let those that you love KNOW it, help those that need it, respect those that are suffering from mental illness and learn more about it to help reduce the stigma and the shame.