I
couldn’t shake the somberness that clung to me like lint on a suit of clothes.
The grief I felt in the eyes of the family followed me out the door of the
funeral home and into my car. A wintry mix of snow and rain added to the
dreariness of the moment, and the rhythmic swish and swash of my windshield
wipers sounded like a death knell, projecting with every beat of its dirge the
photographs I had just seen of the deceased in happy times , nagging me with
one question: Why?
It
was not a good death for this family; it was a suicide. And it left a wake of
questions and misery that will likely leave ripples of doubt and pain for a
long time.
No
family is immune to the possibility of this particular tragedy. Just ask Rick
Warren, the pastor of one of America’s largest churches and author of a best-
selling book on how to live a purpose driven life. Warren’s 27-year-old-son,
Matthew, committed suicide last week. Matthew had suffered a life long battle
with mental illness.
Warren
wrote in an e-mail to his staff that “only those closest knew that he (Matthew)
struggled from birth with mental illness, dark holes of depression, and even
suicidal thoughts. In spite of America's best doctors, meds, counselors, and
prayers for healing, the torture of mental illness never subsided.”
Those
of us who haven’t experienced that torture may have trouble understanding its
gravity. But it’s just as traumatic and
tormenting as physical affliction.
Pastor
Warren recalled something his son had said. "I'll
never forget how, many years ago, after another approach had failed to give
relief, Matthew said 'Dad, I know I'm going to heaven. Why can't I just die and
end this pain?'”
Psychiatrist
and ethicist Willard Gaylin calls this dilemma “the tyranny of survival.” He
says, “One can simply get to a point where the pain and grief of life is in
excess of the joy and pride.”
As
the words of M*A*S*H*’s theme song expressed it: “Through early morning fog I
see/visions of the things to be/the pains that are withheld for me/I realize
and I can see/ that suicide is painless…”
But
is it?
Certainly
not for those left behind.
If
someone you love has committed suicide, I hope and pray you can find some comfort in Scriptures like Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close
to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” And you are
most fortunate if you have someone to hold your hand and heart through the hurt.
If
you are contemplating taking your life, remember that your life is not a
private matter that concerns only yourself. You are a sacred gift of God’s
creation, even though the mental anguish you are experiencing may smear the
clarity of that truth. You can uniquely contribute to the life of others. So taking
your own life is to steal something very valuable from them.
And
remember, you are never beyond hope, even though despair may be the only future
you can see right now. Suicide, it has been said, is not a temporary solution
to a permanent problem, but a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Cling
to what may seem like the thinnest shred of hope.
I
read where 10% of the suicides in San Francisco occur as people jump off the
Golden Gate Bridge. The side of the bridge from which they jump is significant. Almost every one of them jumped off looking
at the city rather than the ocean.
Why?
No
can know, but it makes you wonder: Was their final gaze at the city their one
last longing for hope?
Climb
down from the bridge and embrace The Everlasting Hope who shines in the darkest
of moments, bringing hope to what may appear to be the most desperate of
situations.
And
give life a chance.
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