Ball of String

I've experienced many deaths from sickness to sinister but nothing had a more profound effect than when a loved one took his own life. Suicide is a tricky subject, it's uncomfortable, unfashionable, undesirable and often ignored but I dare you to find a more challenging death to grieve.

I can barely believe that last week it was 6 years since Paul died. How could it be six years when I can still hear that phone call so clearly in my head. How did six years pass when everything still seems so unfinished. Perhaps this is why suicide sits so uncomfortably with grief as grieving suggests a process, a path, although painful, to a close. There is nothing more final than suicide, however this does not equate to acceptance of it.

The strangest thing happens when someone you love commits suicide. You start to question your own life. When someone you love and admire kills themselves you dissect your own value, morals and impact. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly your ball of string can unravel.

Suddenly suicide is on the table.

It is a known phenomenon that suicide is a cluster animal. It is not unusual to find sequential suicides around the original death. It is as if suicide is contagious and it is never ever OK to just assume someone is coping after losing someone this way. Perhaps if I wasn't so afraid to admit how Paul died I could've dealt with his death better. Time rarely heals this wound.

After Paul died, time was defined differently. It actually surprised me that the sun and moon continued to set and rise as if they had no regard to the days it had given birth to before. It stunned me that the clock continued to tick. But time does not feel it simply moves forward with or without you.

It moved without me for the longest time.

Suicide, Suicide, Suicide!!!

We need to keep saying it until it no longer sits uncomfortably on our tongues. Paul committed suicide. Paul is still the most caring man I have ever met. The funniest, dorkiest, warmest, smartest, Hawaiian shirt wearing lunatic that I have ever met. His death will not change this but how I dealt with his suicide did.

I was saddened by his death but his suicide nearly destroyed me.

How can someone that I admire so much have no regard for himself? How can someone who represented to me goodness, honor, virtue and respect have so little for himself and what does this say about my interpretations of these vital values?

All of these questions where answered over the last six years when I followed him down that rabbit hole of depression. Paul is not responsible for my depression and attempts on my life but he certainly played with my string like a cat until the edge where frayed enough to unravel. I, like Paul, confronted many demons but unlike Paul, I was able to hold on to that last bit of frayed, split string. It took me three years before suicide was no longer an option for me. It took me four years to accept my illness. It took me five years to get in time with time. It's taken me six years to ask for more.

I cannot save Paul's life but I can sure as hell thank those that saved mine by not only holding on but by living but I will never forget what it felt like when I didn't believe I had that option. I don't believe that I will ever be able to communicate how profoundly Paul's death affected me as I can't even write these words without being blinded by tears. I wish I could, as like many others, I push this issue down and try to muffle it because of the pain. We need to talk about suicide without shame, guilt, or making it the last taboo. We need to take it off the table.