Yesterday afternoon I sat in a hot and stuffy church sanctuary waiting for a ceremony to start. In some ways it felt like I was attending a wedding. There were flowers. And people dressed up. And we kept glancing toward the back, waiting for the family to enter. But it wasn’t a wedding, and the people sitting in the pews were sniffling, wiping tears away, hugging those long clinging hugs of grief. The person this ceremony was for was only 27 when he died last Tuesday. I never met him; he was the husband of a running buddy of mine who lives over on the other side of the state. Yesterday, the day of his funeral, would have been their first wedding anniversary.
I heard the news Saturday night late, and the funeral was Sunday afternoon, coincidently not far from where I live. Of course I had to go. All night I slept fitfully, waking with his name on my mind. Because you see, he chose to leave this life. Something inside of him was so painful that he couldn’t see a way to stay. And I’m trying to understand that now.
The parking lot was full, the sanctuary was packed. There were probably 200 people attending the service. I watched young men arrive, eyes red and swollen to sit alone. I watched the family standing near, still in shock, trying to give and receive comfort. I saw people sitting quietly watching a slide show of a young man growing up with tears sliding silently down their faces. And I wondered the obvious. Did he not know that all these people loved him? Or maybe it just wasn’t enough.
So as I listened to one of his brothers and his sister-in-law sing inspirational music, to his youngest brother, maybe 17, read a poem that he had written, my eyes filled up as well. I never met this man, but I wish somehow he could know. And I, like everyone else there, wished I could turn back time, unravel the past, make him see.
Twenty-seven. Life is so much bigger than twenty-seven. The weight of the world can seem too heavy when you’re that age, but it’s just the beginning of so much more that will be wonderful. So in honor of this young man whom I’ve never met I will try to spend more time looking around, checking on my friends and family. I need to make sure that no one feels so alone that the weight of the world hangs so heavy, no one feels so alone that the only option is to give up.
Because yesterday two hundred people cried while singing Amazing Grace…and someone wasn’t there to hear it.
Change Is Hard 
August 10, 2009 at 9:26 am
Yesterday morning, Jeff and I were talking about how more people than you would think take there own lives. How horribly ironic that you attended a funeral the same day.
Unfortunately, the people left behind will be filled not only with grief, but unanswered questions for the rest of their lives. No one will ever truly understand the pain the young man felt, or what they could have done to heal that pain.
For the rest of us, all we can do is love & support others while we can, and hope that is enough.
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August 10, 2009 at 1:54 pm
How sad. It always make me think about how much pain that person must be in that the only way to deal with it, is to kill yourself. They see no other way out. How painful for everyone. Diana
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August 10, 2009 at 4:14 pm
What a sad story…..my heart goes out to him and his family and friends.
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August 10, 2009 at 4:26 pm
oh, this has made me well up too. Thank you for sharing the important message in this post. I’m really sorry about the man, only a few years older than me! What an awful place he must have been in, and how horrible for his family and friends.
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August 11, 2009 at 7:37 am
I hear people say – it’s the easy way out, cowardly etc to take your own life. It isn’t!!!! It is one of the hardest things for a person to do …..to decide you can no longer take the pain be it physical or emotional. At 23 my body was being consumed with pain – I had at the time undiagnosed Lupus and Rheumatoid. My lungs were filling with fluid, my heart was struggling to beat with all the inflammation around it and every joint stabbed me with pain on the slightest movement. Pain pills and injections were not helping and my body was closing down by itself. I thought about my family and what I burden I was to them at the time, I thought about how devastated they would be. As I struggled to take breath after breath I thought about the music I would no longer be able to listen to, the soft breezes I would no longer feel. But eventually pain ….so intense….numbs your mind to everything, especially to reason and in a instant you just KNOW you can not go on. I died numerous times that day……my subconscious hovered around the whole time, watching and listening as they worked to ‘save’ me. For what ever reason it wasn’t my time to leave. Today, I struggle not to live – but rather not to die. As beautiful as this world is, and as loved as we can be in it….sometimes the pain is just to overwhelming.
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August 13, 2009 at 7:03 am
I was almost there once, for emotional reasons, a long time ago. I am so glad for my dog, who gave me the best reason to go on, because life is wonderful. I learned recently of the story of a man who lost TWO children to suicide. He now hikes the country carrying a sign “LOVE LIFE” and trying to reach as many people as he can to try to show them how to love life, and to deliver the message that you have no right to take your life, because it doesn’t belong only to you. You’re right, you become amazingly selfish at that point where the pain seems to much to bear. But if somehow the message can be gotten across that IT WILL NOT ALWAYS BE LIKE THIS–and you will cause so much more collective pain in others than you are suffering yourself–but so hard to do! Here’s his web site: http://www.trailtherapy.org/
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August 13, 2009 at 7:19 am
Thanks everyone, for all the insightful comments.
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August 13, 2009 at 10:24 am
I’ve been thinking about this since you posted it. It’s a terrible tragedy, isn’t it?
Last summer I read in my alumni magazine that a guy I graduated college with had died. I didn’t know him except by name and face – we didn’t travel in the same circles – but I had a class or two with him, and his death so young surprised me. A little digging turned up the fact that he had committed suicide. I was shocked. He had a wife and two young children, and was only 32.
Today in the paper there’s a report of a man “intentionally on the tracks” of the Metro yesterday, and he’s the third confirmed Metro suicide since June.
Seven years ago, when I lost my hearing, there were times I wanted to die. I even imagined how I would do it. I was just so devastated, and I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life without sound. So I understand the impulse.
Clearly we need a better safety net in this country for the mentally ill – and make no mistake: people who commit suicide have some form of mental illness, whether it’s major depression or paranoia or schizophrenia or something else. It’s simply not a choice sane, mentally healthy people make.
But I wonder about the people who seem to have a safety net – a loving family and friends left behind wondering why their loved one didn’t just reach out, wondering why they didn’t notice anything was wrong or didn’t act on it if they did – who still go through with it. They must have felt so alone, like there wasn’t any hope, and like no one would help them. I find that unbearably sad. And I’m with you, Dawn – I think it’s time to check in with my loved ones, consciously and pointedly, so they know I’m here if they need to cry for help.
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