(This is a copy of a previous post but, alas, we are touched by suicide once again. For that reason, I encourage every family to consider how we communicate with one another when things are dark, bad on the inside.)
Her death is as surprising as it is stunning. Harriet Deison was an amazingly blessed woman. . . with looks, with love, with family connection, with an abundant, meaning-filled life. Many cannot fathom that last week she drove to a local gun store, purchased a weapon, went to the parking lot and shot herself.
Then again, many of us can. . . many of us who did not know Harriet but who are well acquainted with the darkness of depression. So many of us struggle; so many of us have experienced suicide in our own families. Harriet’s passing reminds me that we all need a way to speak of depression together in our families, a way to ask for help or offer it when we need to. And so I share our family’s story. . . .
I knew for some time that my nephew, Scott, had grappled with periods of despair. But I thought, we all thought, his wife, his kids had given him the reason, the ability to put darkness at bay. In the wake of his death, my brother (Scott’s dad) and Evan (Scott’s son) were driving the pick-up truck home from the funeral parlor. My brother, known as Pop by his grandkids, and little Evan, about 11 at the time, wept as they rode along. Pop pulled to the side of the road and took out his handkerchief. Evan finally broke the silence in the truck,. “Pop,” he asked, “how am I going to do this? I’ve just lost my only dad….” Pop’s eyes filled, “And I have just lost my son.” They wept. At last, Pop lifted his head to ask, “You know what killed your dad?” Evan shook his head. “Not being able to tell someone when things got bad for him. I guess the way you and I go on is to promise to tell each other if things get pretty bad. We gotta talk about stuff that hurts us.” Evan nodded solemnly.
Within my family, we tease about being able to keep secrets better than the Kennedys. But my brother told me this story. And several years later, when my daughter struggled with depression, I told her. I would like to believe that the gift Scott left us is being able to speak when we’re having a hard time. It isn’t easy, I know, to reach your hand out when you need help. So I’d like to encourage you today to speak with your kids. Talk about depression; mention that it can be fatal. Talk about its cost to every member of the family. Invent a phrase, a red flag to raise if depression sneaks up and would overtake you or a loved one. Let it become the “code” to other family members to drop whatever they’re doing to pay attention. It can be as simple as
I’m having a hard time right now. I need help.
Blessings on those who’ve left us through the hell of depression; blessings on those who have or are recovering from the loss; blessings on those who awoke to darkness this morning. Remember to say. . .
I’m having a hard time right now. I need help.
