What a year this has been so far. While I thought 2018 was difficult – a year of many endings and chapters closing; 2024 has been a ‘hold my beer’ kind of year. Recovering from TKR and dealing with being laid off without much of a parachute is tough enough, but then my 34-year-old son decided he’s better off dead than alive. I learned that we call this ‘completing’ suicide. I understand the sentiment, though I still struggle with the terminology. I’m more used to ‘committing’ suicide. Apparently since suicide is no longer considered a crime (wholeheartedly agree), then a person is not committing the act; they are completing it. Completing it because many times people attempt it and do not succeed; perhaps because they are issuing a cry for help, or they are simply unsuccessful in achieving their desired outcome. I am trying to get used to the phrase, but unfortunately for those who are not used to me, I more often than not say, “He killed himself.” Perhaps that’s better than saying, “He shot himself”? I don’t know, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. I find the whole “my son died” and the response of “how did he die?” “what happened?” or “was he sick?” just takes too much time and energy to get through. So, the bluntness of “He killed himself” is easier and saves a whole lot of back and forth.
As an INTJ (Meyers Briggs type indicator), I have found this experience to be very interesting. Emotionally, yes, it hits hard. Unfortunately, I process these emotions differently than people expect or perhaps experience themselves, and so I find myself being drawn into observing myself and others dealing with the loss of an amazing, insightful, talented young man who had more than his share of roadblocks, setbacks, and challenges on the road to adulthood. And, so, here are my reflections on this journey so far.
My daughter and I spent several hours chatting one Friday morning at the end of June, catching up on everything going on in our worlds. After we disconnected, I dashed to the grocery store and ran some errands. Then, a couple hours later, she called again. My first thought was ‘something happened to my grandson or son-in-law.’ When she said my son shot himself, my mind flashed to the shooting range, and almost immediately to ‘no, he killed himself.’ I knew it in a split second that what I worried would happen 6 years ago, during a particularly difficult chapter, had indeed happened; my son reached a tipping point and took the ultimate action of ending his life. I do not blame the guns at all; I am not personally a fan of gun ownership, but I know that the ability to own guns was not what led to this event. Rather, if a person has gotten to the point that they believe they are better off dead, or that painful mental health problems can only be solved by killing them (and oneself), they are going to use whatever means available to them to act. My son had access to guns, and so that was his method. He could have just as easily driven his Porsche off a cliff (and believe me, given his tendency to drive fast, that was definitely an option). The outcome would have been the same, no matter the avenue chosen. There was some discussion amongst certain family members about whether this was an accident. I shook my head, clearly, they did not know my son well. His entire life was about perfection and being an expert in everything he considered to have value. He was an absolute advocate of gun safety and even taught courses about it. He would never, in a million years, point a loaded weapon at his own body as a joke or to put something on social media. No, this was no accident. He intentionally pointed the gun at himself, and intentionally pulled the trigger.
While I am one that tends to keep my personal life ‘close to the vest,’ I have tried over the years to recognize the need to express emotions and reach out for support, even if I don’t think I logically need it. And, so, I started reaching out to those who had been close to my son over the years. I needed for people to know, and to find out from me, not from an obituary or a social media post. While this led to many phone calls, emails and messages that were difficult to respond to in the moment, I don’t regret ‘going public’ immediately. What it did was to show me just how special my son was to others, how much love and support I have in my friends and family, and the truly caring side of people. People don’t always know what to say, but rather than listen to their words, I found listening to their intention is what really matters. Yes, sometimes people say weird or almost hurtful things, because they don’t have the vocabulary or the ability to phrase it appropriately. However, instead of judging the words, I listened to what they wanted to communicate. Everyone that reached out to me wanted to communicate that they were devasted to learn of my son’s passing and they wanted me to know that they cared. That meant a great deal to me, and it still does.
The most difficult communication was when one of his ex-girlfriends that I have remained close with reached out to me on Instagram. She and my son had reconnected and were making plans to see each other when she visited Texas. She hadn’t heard from him in a few days and was worried. She asked me if I knew any of his local friends who could check in on him. Unfortunately, this was about 3 days after he took his life. I couldn’t talk to her, that would have been too difficult, so I told her to take a deep breath as I forwarded the email I had been using to tell friends and family what happened. We have since shared many happy memories of my son and reminisced about their time together, as well as his unique personality and exceptional taste in the finer things in life.
Some examples of the great support I received: I had been scheduled to attend a Chi Running workshop in Tennessee the week after my son died. I reached out to the retreat center and told them that I wasn’t going to be able to come. Not only did they refund me the entire cost, but I received lovely cards from both the retreat center owners and the presenters of the retreat. They didn’t have to do this, but I was touched by the level of caring when they took the extra step to acknowledge what happened and express their condolences. The two airport hotels I prepaid immediately returned my money. While American Airlines traded my roundtrip ticket from Philly to Knoxville for a one-way to Dallas, at least I wasn’t out the entire cost of the Knoxville flight.
My sister who lives near my son invited me to her house for as long as I wanted to stay. As a born and bred Minnesotan (and INTJ), turning down invitations is an ingrained habit. Instead, as the post-event tension mounted at my son’s house and my hotel reservation ended, I took her up on the invitation and spent four days hanging out with her and her daughters, and managing some of the immediate response things that had to be done. I joked that I didn’t know where the time went, but it was absolutely the best thing I did that week. I attended a fascinating presentation on brain pathways and research in neuroscience, thanks to my niece, and just hung out not doing much of anything for several days simply because I didn’t want to go home to an empty house.
Three of my son’s ex-girlfriends reached out with support even as they were dealing with the shock and grief of his passing. My son had a habit of remaining good friends with most of his exes and their kind words as well as stories about him reminded me of the great care he took of his friends. He and I had always talked openly about the fact that being a good friend and a shoulder to cry on was a great gift; however, being a good counselor and confidante only worked insofar as you had someone you could turn to when you needed a shoulder to cry on. Being empathetic and the center of a social circle isn’t always easy, and those same qualities that make you the ideal friend can backfire when you are the one that is crashing and burning. I don’t know that either of us solved this particular puzzle, and it makes me reflect on how important it is to build relationships with both those that need your help, and those who can help you (oftentimes not the same person).
In the weeks following his death, I was surprised to receive letters from two different suicide response charities in the state of Texas. I guess I wasn’t expecting anything out of Texas (you get what you pay for), so I was impressed that I had two different local charities contact me. Yes, they aren’t governmental agencies, but they are trying to do what they can for Texas families that are impacted by suicide. It turns out the coroner’s office provides contact details for families, and they reach out. While I can’t take advantage of their local services, one of them called me and offered up books, online resources, and remote workshops. They also offered to call me back once a month to check in. Again, my usual response would be ‘no thank you,’ but I am finding through this process that I actually appreciate the connection and the thought that someone (unrelated) actually wants to try to help me. And, so I agreed that they could sign me up for their monthly check-ins.
During the aftermath, I saw a post on LinkedIn by a man who had a close work colleague that completed suicide. He said a few words and expressed his grief. This got me thinking. I had read several studies and articles over the years about the number of millennial men who have taken their own lives. The data shows that it’s a significant issue in this generation, and is particularly high amongst men. Using this, I crafted a post on LinkedIn to highlight how this translates in real life. I reflected on being in HR and dealing with the aftermath of employees taking their own lives and the tools companies have to address this issue. However, the reality is that a company (or HR person) isn’t going to be the means to address something that is endemic among a population. The point of my post was that people need to look out for each other, recognize when something isn’t right, and reach out. It’s not enough to have EAP, mental health days or flexible working; while these do help with balancing personal needs and superficially addressing mental health, they are not sufficient. After I wrote it, I realized that I could have said it much more eloquently and there were other aspects I failed to mention (charities, places people can go if they don’t have friends and family to talk to, and so on). However, the post received over 70,000 impressions (which is LinkedIn for ‘views’) and 144 comments, with 10 people resharing it to their own feed. This was a far greater response than I ever imagined would happen and means that this topic resonates with a far greater number of people than I could have imagined.
We held a celebration of life event three weeks after he died, and while planning it, I had no idea how many people might come. Knowing that we had 25 with just family at my mom’s memorial service, I figured we would have at least that number, so I rounded up to 30 as a rough number. When I arrived at the venue, there were already people there, several coworkers and customers who had met him through his role in technical sales. People kept arriving, and I lost count of the numbers. I suspect there were well over 100 as we spread through the space we booked and into the outdoor area beyond it. Several of the men had dressed in high fashion (channeling Cameron), and it spoke to their relationships with him. I started off the evening with giving several examples from his early years of his amazing personality, and how it had actually shown itself at an early age. I then asked others to get up and share happy memories of him, and the stories they shared reinforced just how many people he touched in his relatively short life. After everyone that wanted to speak had a chance (even his favorite bartender whom he had followed from other bars to this one as she changed jobs), we had a lovely video compilation of photos from his life set to two very meaningful songs, ‘Everywhere’ by our favorite band, Pink Martini, and ‘You Will Love Again’ by Celine Dion; there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. While my glass was never empty, and drinks kept arriving, I went all in and had more to drink than I’ve had in a long time. The hangover was worth it; I could not have been happier with how the night went.
My hair stylist is the epitome of the stereotype – a quasi-therapist in her own right. When she asked how my summer was going, I teared up, “Not great,” and she gave me a big hug when I told her what happened. We spent the appointment talking about my son, and what I was dealing with in the aftermath. At the end, she gave me another warm hug and said she would pray for me. And, the thing is, I know this isn’t the empty ‘thoughts and prayers,’ she’s going to pray for me, and it means the world to me.
A negative that happened is dealing with the medical community that is solely focused on physical health, though seems to think it appropriate to throw in token mental health questions when you go for doctor’s appointments. At my annual physical, the intake questions are along the lines of “do you feel safe at home?” “have you felt sad or unhappy in the past month?” “do you have issues with paying rent, buying groceries, etc.” It’s a checklist. My bad habit of testing people’s reaction came through when I decided to say, “No, I’m not happy, and yes, I felt incredibly sad in the past month because my son died.” The nurse merely responded, “Oh, I’m so sorry” and carried on with the rest of the questionnaire. When the nurse practitioner came in to do the actual physical (my doctor being unavailable), she asked me how many children I have. Being unaccustomed to how to answer this question after what happened, I said “Two, I mean I had two, but now I have one, because my son died.” (My mind is asking ‘how do I answer this question? My son is still my son even though he’s not on earth, but are you asking me about earthly things?’). In response, she said, “How did he die?” Again, me being me, I said bluntly, “He killed himself.” She was surprised and said, “Oh, my friend’s nephew did that too, it’s so sad.” Then she carried on with the appointment. This made me angry, why are you asking these questions if you don’t actually care or act on the answer? What is the point of this? Just meeting some clinic or government requirement that you inquire about a person’s mental health? There was nothing; neither of them asked me if I needed help or wanted a referral or pointed me towards any grief support or parents of suicide charity – nothing whatsoever. My health plan pays for mental health services, and yet neither of them saw fit to point this out, or to ask me if I knew how to access those benefits through the health insurance plan. How can asking these questions actually do anything to address mental health? Nine times out of ten, I’m going to do the Minnesotan response and say, “I’m fine.” In the one time I decided to say, “I’m not fine” I get a cursory response and we move on. Thanks for nothing!
Later, after I posted about this experience, I decided to give the clinic system ‘feedback’ about their complete lack of preparedness to deal with mental health issues. As I feared, I got a stock email saying, ‘thank you for your feedback’ and nothing more. My concern was more around the potential of people who are not ok being asked these questions, answering honestly and not getting the support they need. I feel very supported and am well aware where and how to seek help should I need it, but not everyone is as well educated as me on mental health benefits and such. It almost makes me think, theoretically, what if my son had gone to his doctor and told them he had thoughts about taking his own life, would he have been met with the same response? Given my experience, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he would have (though I sincerely doubt he would have shared these kinds of thoughts with a stranger).
One of the books I received from the Texas charity is Dying to be Free, by Beverly Cobain (Kurt Cobain’s aunt) and Jean Larch. I learned a great deal about suicide and the key point of psych ache, the concept that a person is in so much pain psychologically that they try to do anything to resolve it, and this can lead to feeling that the only way to solve it is to kill it, which by default means killing yourself. At the end of the book, there are a series of stories from survivors about their loved ones reaching out from beyond on the grave. So, I’ll share something that happened to me soon after my son died.
The dream took place in a restaurant at some kind of function. The place had couches and low tables where people sat around chatting, eating and drinking (so, it could have been a bar too). I was sitting on a couch, and Cameron had his arm wrapped around me. I was leaning into him and we were just enjoying each others company. A young woman with albinism came up and sat down across from me. She started saying how much she loved Cameron and missed him terribly. I thought, “What do you mean? He’s right here, next to me.” Then, I realized she couldn’t see him, because he’s dead, so I just thanked her for her kind words. I woke up and thought, yes, indeed, Cameron is right here next to me, even if no one else can see him.
1 Comment
Mei · August 29, 2024 at 03:07
I am so sorry for what happened. You are incredibly brave, and I deeply admire your resilience. Please let me know if you ever visit Seattle; I’d love to hear all about Cameron from you.