Picture by lordhaxor
Tomorrow, October 26, 2009, I am scheduled to deliver my “Values Speech”, and the topic I’ve chosen is related to suicide. And as I drafted my speech notes, it quickly became obvious that a speech of three to five minutes in duration is not an adequate span of time to develop the true nature of this subject. The subject is not suicide, but how surviving someone’s suicide will effect the decisions we make when confronted with an attempt of suicide another makes.
Imagine yourself in this place, or if you have already been here, remember what it was like . . . you enter a room where you discover someone lying on the floor after having made an attempt to kill him/herself. What do you do? What did you do, or what do you think you will do? What factors will effect the decision(s) you made or didn’t make? Is it even a matter that it’s your responsibility to act?
I managed to live my childhood with the belief that suicide is something that happens in story books or in the Movies or to someone else. I was 24 when “suicide” shifted from the abstract to the very real and became the end of a colleague’s life. The suicide of this individual affected me profoundly, and it was the beginning of my questioning the religious stories they sell us. It was the marking point of when death began to stir an undefined and painful sadness deep within me. Perhaps I am so saddened by death because I have come to believe we only get one chance, and that death is the end of that chance. I struggled for many years to try to understand the event, and eventually I wrote about it in a song . . .
Mary
This is all I know and what I know that’s left of Mary.
From the West and on the run, came Mary.
Her father’s heart was broken when her mother died.
He passed his hurt onto Mary.
I thought I sensed her pain, and I thought she would survive,
Oh, but Mary never was the kind to bring you down.
She would rather die than to rain on your parade.
She couldn’t smile much. Tempered words would make her cry.
On a Friday night on the way to going home, came Mary.
“Too much going on. I’m not that strong.” said Mary.
And my heart was breaking, ’cause I knew that life had beaten Mary.
With a leap of faith and a bullet and a blade, went Mary.
Days would pass us by like the teardrops in the eyes of Mary.
Her brother found her there, bloody paw prints everywhere
From the seven hungry cats.
I looked into what I thought to be the face of Mary.
Laid in satin, laid to rest.
What I thought I’d see was peacefulness.
But she died as she lived,
And what remained was the pain of, Mary . . .
never meant to bring us down.
And when she died the sun came out to shine
and I think . . . I think I understand.
Six years after Mary chose to escape her torments I found myself in a relationship with someone I will call X. I wasn’t “in love” with X, but I dearly loved X , and of all those who came and went in my life, X is the one who I miss and who I felt most connected to. The two of us shared all those key components that are needed in the making of a successful relationship, except for the all important ingredient of trust.
X had survived a tragic childhood that left unhealed wounds, and I became all too familiar with X’s torments and demons, and I knew how deeply the suffering ran. As the “broken” often do, X escaped the pain by drinking too much, too often, or by retreating to the company and the beds of others, and I thought it would be X’s indiscretions that would end our relationship. Still, I had never thought to consider the possibility that X would choose the same remedy that Mary had chosen.
Before we continue with this story, it is important that you try to put aside your morals and your religious beliefs. Try to set aside legal influences or the things that those in a guidance capacity have taught you. This is not an attempt to argue the right or wrong of suicide as it pertains to legal or religious standpoints. Even in my case, that suicide takes away one’s chance to “get it right”, we will put that aside as well.
When I had left for work that afternoon, X had just finished a work shift and was in good spirits. We had talked about what we might do when I get home. I got through my shift without any “bad feelings” or “signs” that something might be wrong. And when I stepped into the foyer, the rooms were well lit, the stereo was playing CDs, and I called out to X. I received no answer.
The light was on in the bathroom, and so, I went to that room and found X lying on the floor in a semi-conscious state, and I assumed X had been drinking again. But then I saw the empty prescription bottle lying next to X. The first thought I had was of Mary and how I had spent the last six years trying to find understanding. And then X said, “Please don’t help me.”
Finally I had the understanding for which I had been searching. Despite what my beliefs and thoughts are on the matter of committing suicide, the truth is that I am not supposed to judge the suffering of another. It is not for me to decide or dictate how much suffering one can or cannot endure. So, it comes down to my own suffering and endurance, and it made me question my motives for saving my friend and companion.
I have always spent my life “trying” to do the right thing, even if I fail at it. But in a most crucial moment I found myself not knowing what the “right thing to do” was. The “law of the land”, the laws of decency, the laws of morals, dictate that we help those who are in need or danger. I didn’t want my partner, my friend to die, but I didn’t know if I was strong enough to be responsible for saving X’s life, because saving X’s life meant returning X to those torments and suffering from which X was desperately seeking escape. It’s really not that much different from allowing a terminally ill person in pain to put an end to the suffering. The same mentality we apply to “Do Not Resuscitate” might be applied to those who reach a point of such desperate escape as to attempt suicide.
But, in honesty, what was the deciding factor was a selfish desire to be unwilling to have to survive another suicide. Still there were so many things to consider. As I drove through the narrow streets at high rates of speed, trying to keep X from slipping into unconsciousness, the conflict raged a nasty storm inside my crumbling rationale. I was betraying the wishes of my partner, and for the selfish reasons of not wanting to lose someone I loved. Would it have been the right thing . . . if I truly loved that individual and cared for the well-being of that individual, to honor the individual’s wishes to die? Or, was being brave, knowing my partner would not forgive me, saving a life in the face of what it would cost . . . was that doing the right thing?
Suddenly, X stopped breathing, and instinctively, I slammed my fist into the still chest, and it was enough to start the lungs moving again. And yet, the one thought that kept going through my mind was that I didn’t want to survive another suicide.
I still have the memory, vivid in its recall, of X glaring at me from a wheel chair with black stains around X’s mouth from the charcoal used in the pumping out process. I still hear the words, “I hate you.”, and I live with the knowledge that I was never forgiven for the betrayal. But what bothers me is that I don’t know if I did the right thing.”
Kheri's Thoughts 