I had to do something today that was so hard. It was so difficult that I nearly backed out. But it was also very important that I followed through because the welfare of others depended on my presence-not because I am important, but instead because sometimes people need support in numbers. Today I attended the funeral of the young beautiful daughter of family friends. She was beautiful-blond and blue eyed. She was smart-a student at Texas A&M with her eyes on becoming a physician's assistant after first becoming an EMT. She was strong-a star player on her high school softball team. She had so much going for her. She was full of vinegar with a quick wit and ready sense of humor.
She killed herself.
Let that sink in. This beautiful, talented, smart and sassy young woman who had achieved so much and who was loved by so many suffered from a broken spirit. I don't know how nor do I know why she made this choice. All we know from the letters from her parents read during the memorial that her shiny, bright veneer hid a very sensitive young spirit which grabbed onto every criticism and allowed it to fester. We have accounts that trapped animals will gnaw off their own legs to escape the pain of the trap. I suppose at some point inner doubt can become just as deadly as cancer and grow into something so painful that death seems the only escape. Bumper sticker claims of suicide as a "permanent solution to a temporary problem" don't even scratch the surface of the situation.
Having met this young woman and hearing what her sister and friends recalled of her life, I can't believe she would intentionally inflict so much pain. Even four days later, I don't think her mother has had one hour of sleep. She's melting into tears and no words anyone can say will console her. There simply are no words in any human language that can heal her pain. Her father is being strong for everyone else and yet I can't imagine that he's not wishing to block out all that has happened, hoping it's just a bad dream. You can see in his eyes that inside he is shattered, blaming himself for failing to protect his baby girl. No loving child, no parent, no sibling or friend would cause that kind of pain unless they were in such irrational pain themselves that nothing else made sense. Some think of suicide as the ultimate selfish act. It is and it isn't. It's self-centered because the main character has bought into a litany of self-described sins from which they think there is no absolution. It's selfish because they fail to trust others enough to be honest.
Why do so many people ignore that there is always forgiveness? Our society has become so quick to blame. So many of our "sins" are more personality quirks than evil. Yet we have become a society where saying one wrong word, wearing the wrong shirt, holding the wrong sign or daring to be different can make someone a target. Even the bravest among us don't want the center stage all the time. And when we fail, for some, it's a hard fact to acknowledge. Call it pride or ego or perfectionism, for some the quest for the best score, the perfect record or the highest praise is the only thing that calms such troubled spirits. The sad thing is that for many one success just leads them to seek the next achievement-the quest never ends. Perhaps this is why some seek to end it themselves-sometimes through drugs or alcohol or other addictions and distractions. They just have to end the game.
No parent should have to bury a child. Whether they are infants unborn or men in their 50's, they are always children to their parents. I admit that I was holding up well during the memorial service until they showed this young woman's photos as a baby. Parents in general, but mothers in particular, have a real problem separating their grown children from the infants they nurtured. Mothers have problems in seeing their children as functioning adults. It's not that we don't admire our children or that we don't wish them independence and success, but it's hard to reconcile with our first images of our babies with the adults they become. This week my 93 year old aunt lost her only son at the age of 58. He died in his sleep. I don't think she mourns her loss any more or less than the parents of the girl whose sad story I first addressed. Children are always and forever young to their parents. So when a parent calls a grown child to warn of dangerous weather heading their way or to gently nag about bills or suggest more grandchildren would be nice, it's not because parents are trying to run their children's lives, but because they are trying to help them avoid the potholes and pitfalls that life can create. Sometimes being a parent is the most terrifying role you can take.
If I was a better writer, I'd have some snappy conclusion that would wrap up this situation. There are no answers. We'll never know what went through this young woman's mind before she made her choice. I've always heard that those who attempt suicide hope someone to save them. In a way it's kind of a test of the rest of the world. Perhaps that was the case here-I hope so. I hope she was counting on a savior or a white knight or a dragon or whatever hero her mind could create. I know that as a Texas public school teacher I will have to go through "suicide lessons" with my classes. They are mapped out by psychologists who claim to know how we can protect young people from making this tragic choice. I also know that ultimately it is window dressing-a type of whistling in the dark that betrays the fact that we will never know what demons haunt those who end their own lives. All we can do is try to insure that those we love know it and that knowing it will be enough.
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