I am sorry. But I am thankful that you were there for this young man. You honored him by bearing witness to his journey and preserved it for eternity, showing respect and empathy. Heroic.
Hey. I've been a cop for 17 years and was a paramedic before that. I've seen this story a few times myself. I felt every word you wrote deeply. Thank you for sharing.
I have witnessed suicide intimately.. I have been the other person on the phone, as it was happening.. I understand the depths of the pain on my side at least.. As for the other who takes his/her life.. and in this case my partner.. The only way l, or the best way, I eventually was able to survive his suicide was to respect his decision. Respect doesn't mean one like's what happened, or that one condones it.. It simply means one has respect for the agonizing choice that was made because it is something so unfathomably difficult... so decisive.. so final, and in a way, very brave. Thank you for sharing, thank you for listening.
My husband committed suicide eight months after the death of our son who was a police officer in Baltimore. I told him that he was the blame because my son was so innocent. I was so angry that he retired and went back home to Baltimore. I hated that city and I was in Bosnia when my son went to the police academy. Two months out of the academy, he was killed, two months after his twenty second birthday. No it wasn’t my husband’s fault, but I blamed him anyway. I am so sorry for his death every day.
I’m sure everyone tells you that it is not your fault. There all said it because it’s true. And I can only send you peace and love, strength and understanding. I truly am so sorry for your losses.
Thank you, yes people have said it before but I don’t think so. He wouldn’t even come to his funeral. I said some horrible things to him and he just went inside himself and never came out again. He started on a fast for forty days, then another and then he lost about a hundred pounds. I tried to get him into the VA hospital but they let him go saying that he would be fine. He weighed about eighty pounds. I tried getting him to come to Florida with me and my youngest son and he lied and said he would. Told me to buy a house and he would come. I got an apartment first, but he never came. I called him every day and finally he told me he changed his mind. I told him that he was a coward and that it was his fault that our son was dead and that I wished it was him that died. He said he wished he had died also and then he said goodbye. In the army we never said goodbye to each other, even when we were angry. I called his father and sister and they cursed me out. I told my friends and the police. My friend checked on him he wouldn’t answer the door or phone. The police said to leave him alone. But she had a friend at the fire department and he went with her to check on him and had to break down the door and found him hanging. So you see it was my fault! That’s all I know about that. Thank you again for your response.
I don’t want to “Like” this, but it’s the only reaction tab in this platform.
I too, felt we failed. We failed my ex fiancé’s daughter. I loved her as my own. I was the only adult male she ever told she loved other than her brothers. I was a horrible drunk, but I was never violent with them and was the most normal adult male in her direct circle.
She was raped mere days after her 13th birthday by a 30 year old man, whose family had enough money to keep him from ever setting foot inside a jail cell, much less a conviction.
A year later, she was in trouble with the law, driving without a license and drinking heavily, not talking with anyone.
She was arrested multiple times, sent to a women’s reform and released to her mother’s care, as she had been to treatment for her own alcoholism by that time.
We were split, but to get that phone call from my ex fiancé in the middle of the night from her I knew something bad had happened as soon as I heard her voice on the other end of the line.
She was having one last weekend at her dads before going to her mothers. He passed out again, and she was in her room with a friend who was asleep. She wrote a note, crawled down the side of the house, walked to the railroad tracks and waited.
Amtrak was scheduled to come through.
They came through at 55 miles per hour, saw her ahead, on foot, and immediately threw the train into emergency.
It didn’t matter. She ran headfirst into an oncoming train, tears streaming, lowered her head and killed herself. She was 14. The train crew ended up in therapy, then quit a few months later.
We all failed her. My ex. Me. Her family. The school. The churches. The guidance counselors. Law enforcement. Everyone that said they would be there if she ever needed anything.
And when she was raped? Hushed whispers that those who aren’t supposed to hear can hear like they’re being broadcast on a loudspeaker.
“Oh, just like her mother.
She’s an Indian you know, and you know how they are. It takes two to tango.
But he’s from such a good family. How are they handle this? He has so much promise.”
Then, after she was gone…
The churches didn’t want to perform a funeral for a suicide.
They offered zero counseling to the family.
We ended up with a preacher from out west in the state to perform the service.
One brother signed up for the Marines and left for Afghanistan, where his best friend was blown in two while he held him in his arms after a prior mortal injury, his dead friend’s body shielding him from being killed as well.
He then raged in alcoholism and abuse after the service, with zero help after he returned. He then tried to take his own life after his wife wanted a divorce.
My ex slid back into alcoholism.
I dove into my alcoholism even more than before.
We did both find sobriety, eventually, though we found it was best to never get back together again.
After I was out of rehab, I started chairing nightly AA meetings and trying to sponsor youth, as they seemed drawn to and trusted me.
I did that for a couple of years, until one night a 13 year old male that I’d been working with came in to the meeting just as it started, of his own volition.
I turned the meeting over to the floor, for whatever people wanted to talk about that night. Instantly a “born again true believer” started in with how “Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, and he just want everyone here to know he loves them and wants only the best for them, and all they have to do is ask him and he’ll take all your pain and suffering away” before I could shut him down. I looked up, and the kid was gone.
He’d grown up with a great family in a really nice neighborhood. He was a great student and athlete. He had friends. He was the one they relied on to be their rock. His dad was a preacher and his mom was a teacher. But he was tormented by his own demons, and was already an alcoholic-addict at 13.
I grabbed a mutual acquaintance he trusted Ace were left to find him immediately. He wasn’t at any of his usual haunts, and we finally stopped by his house, thinking we at least had to fill his fills in on what had happened.
We checked his room, and there he was, hanging from the ceiling.
He’d written a note. He needed to find answers, and he trusted us when we told him we could help him find his own answers, all he had to do was ask. He showed up at the meeting that night to find me, heard all the same crap he’d heard all his life and really, really tried hard to believe, and it never worked.
He felt like there was no reason to keep trying if he was only going to get the same answers in that room he’d grown up with.
So he found a solution that was bigger than his problem; the ultimate solution.
I stopped trying to sponsor teenagers that day for years, only in recent years reaching out to others. It was too much, too soon.
It’s taken seeing headlines with other kids, other families heartaches, other friends devastated to the point they themselves may not return to reach out again and offer my hand, experiences and the hope I found.
But I do. Very few take a person up on the offer, but I hope to spot the signs before it’s too late.
And when someone does, then approaches me later, maybe years later, and simply says “thank you”, it’s worth it. If they don’t, but I never see their name in the obituaries, I still consider it worth it.
I'm so very sorry for this tragedy.... I understand what it is like to blame oneself.. That is the hardest thing to live with. I can only hope you find forgiveness for all that happened. I am sure both your son who tragically passed, and your partner would want you to NOT live on torture and regret. I hope you fond peace in some form.. know that it is possible. Speak to them as if they can hear you.. Because I believe they can and do..
Incredible work of writing. I’ve been within inches of taking my own life after PTSD ravaged my brain from 25 years of being a firefighter/paramedic. Really amazing article. Thank you.
I have also been touched by this with the loss of my Father. I hope that you have undergone healing and have found some peace yourself. I also love the way you described it: "The flames of living had become too intense." Thank you.
Profound. “What brought him to the point where the terror of life now outweighs the terror of death?” Closing my eyes and wishing peace from terror to him. 🤍
Powerful essay. I live with clinical depression and have been there. Unless a person has experienced it themselves, they won't understand how painful depression is.The flames have approached me many times.
How beautifully, hauntingly written. Someone else said it better than I could: "You have a deep well", my friend. Your words hit me as hard as those quoted from Wallace and Camus. During my 8 years in the Marine Corps, I saw some of the worst that the world has to offer in far off places. However, one incident that still haunts me at times was the Suicide of a young Lance Corporal in my charge. He had recently gone through a bad break up, and at 21, that pain must have seemed insurmountable to him. Suicide touched me again when I lost my Father to Mental Illness in 2018. His final message to me still cuts somewhere deep inside my soul that isn't generally accessible to the outside world: "There is nothing left for me; time to go and leave you all in peace."
I have undergone much grief and healing since then, and I sincerely hope that you do as well. What at the time seemed completely unfathomable and baffling, has now given me a sense of humble understanding--or at least the authentic attempt thereof, and I think your essay captured that perfectly. It is good to know that there are kindred souls out there like yourself who also dare to delve beneath the superficial waves.
I live with a chronic pain disorder. Every moment of every day is pain. I fall asleep to pain and awake to it. I dream of pain. Thoughts of suicide to me are not about hopelessness, but the hope of ending the suffering.
I remain for those I love and mostly for a sweet little girl that I cannot bring myself to take a father from, no matter how many flames I must suffer.
I don’t blame those who do, I understand them. In some ways I envy them. More than that, I honor the time that they were able to endure, knowing that it was almost certainly for their own loved ones. Maybe even to give something to society as a whole before they leave.
At the end of it all, everyone dies. How you lived is much more important than how you died.
I am sorry. But I am thankful that you were there for this young man. You honored him by bearing witness to his journey and preserved it for eternity, showing respect and empathy. Heroic.
Hey. I've been a cop for 17 years and was a paramedic before that. I've seen this story a few times myself. I felt every word you wrote deeply. Thank you for sharing.
Hard. I'm sorry - for the young man and for you. But I'm not sorry you wrote this. I'm thankful.
“You don’t know if the roof is leaking,” it’s been said, “unless you live on the inside.”
Thank you for posting. You are a gifted writer.
That was the line that really hit home with me.
That was a really powerful essay. Thanks for your open-hearted perspective on suicide. And open-minded perspective, too.
I have witnessed suicide intimately.. I have been the other person on the phone, as it was happening.. I understand the depths of the pain on my side at least.. As for the other who takes his/her life.. and in this case my partner.. The only way l, or the best way, I eventually was able to survive his suicide was to respect his decision. Respect doesn't mean one like's what happened, or that one condones it.. It simply means one has respect for the agonizing choice that was made because it is something so unfathomably difficult... so decisive.. so final, and in a way, very brave. Thank you for sharing, thank you for listening.
My husband committed suicide eight months after the death of our son who was a police officer in Baltimore. I told him that he was the blame because my son was so innocent. I was so angry that he retired and went back home to Baltimore. I hated that city and I was in Bosnia when my son went to the police academy. Two months out of the academy, he was killed, two months after his twenty second birthday. No it wasn’t my husband’s fault, but I blamed him anyway. I am so sorry for his death every day.
I’m sure everyone tells you that it is not your fault. There all said it because it’s true. And I can only send you peace and love, strength and understanding. I truly am so sorry for your losses.
Thank you, yes people have said it before but I don’t think so. He wouldn’t even come to his funeral. I said some horrible things to him and he just went inside himself and never came out again. He started on a fast for forty days, then another and then he lost about a hundred pounds. I tried to get him into the VA hospital but they let him go saying that he would be fine. He weighed about eighty pounds. I tried getting him to come to Florida with me and my youngest son and he lied and said he would. Told me to buy a house and he would come. I got an apartment first, but he never came. I called him every day and finally he told me he changed his mind. I told him that he was a coward and that it was his fault that our son was dead and that I wished it was him that died. He said he wished he had died also and then he said goodbye. In the army we never said goodbye to each other, even when we were angry. I called his father and sister and they cursed me out. I told my friends and the police. My friend checked on him he wouldn’t answer the door or phone. The police said to leave him alone. But she had a friend at the fire department and he went with her to check on him and had to break down the door and found him hanging. So you see it was my fault! That’s all I know about that. Thank you again for your response.
I don’t want to “Like” this, but it’s the only reaction tab in this platform.
I too, felt we failed. We failed my ex fiancé’s daughter. I loved her as my own. I was the only adult male she ever told she loved other than her brothers. I was a horrible drunk, but I was never violent with them and was the most normal adult male in her direct circle.
She was raped mere days after her 13th birthday by a 30 year old man, whose family had enough money to keep him from ever setting foot inside a jail cell, much less a conviction.
A year later, she was in trouble with the law, driving without a license and drinking heavily, not talking with anyone.
She was arrested multiple times, sent to a women’s reform and released to her mother’s care, as she had been to treatment for her own alcoholism by that time.
We were split, but to get that phone call from my ex fiancé in the middle of the night from her I knew something bad had happened as soon as I heard her voice on the other end of the line.
She was having one last weekend at her dads before going to her mothers. He passed out again, and she was in her room with a friend who was asleep. She wrote a note, crawled down the side of the house, walked to the railroad tracks and waited.
Amtrak was scheduled to come through.
They came through at 55 miles per hour, saw her ahead, on foot, and immediately threw the train into emergency.
It didn’t matter. She ran headfirst into an oncoming train, tears streaming, lowered her head and killed herself. She was 14. The train crew ended up in therapy, then quit a few months later.
We all failed her. My ex. Me. Her family. The school. The churches. The guidance counselors. Law enforcement. Everyone that said they would be there if she ever needed anything.
And when she was raped? Hushed whispers that those who aren’t supposed to hear can hear like they’re being broadcast on a loudspeaker.
“Oh, just like her mother.
She’s an Indian you know, and you know how they are. It takes two to tango.
But he’s from such a good family. How are they handle this? He has so much promise.”
Then, after she was gone…
The churches didn’t want to perform a funeral for a suicide.
They offered zero counseling to the family.
We ended up with a preacher from out west in the state to perform the service.
One brother signed up for the Marines and left for Afghanistan, where his best friend was blown in two while he held him in his arms after a prior mortal injury, his dead friend’s body shielding him from being killed as well.
He then raged in alcoholism and abuse after the service, with zero help after he returned. He then tried to take his own life after his wife wanted a divorce.
My ex slid back into alcoholism.
I dove into my alcoholism even more than before.
We did both find sobriety, eventually, though we found it was best to never get back together again.
After I was out of rehab, I started chairing nightly AA meetings and trying to sponsor youth, as they seemed drawn to and trusted me.
I did that for a couple of years, until one night a 13 year old male that I’d been working with came in to the meeting just as it started, of his own volition.
I turned the meeting over to the floor, for whatever people wanted to talk about that night. Instantly a “born again true believer” started in with how “Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, and he just want everyone here to know he loves them and wants only the best for them, and all they have to do is ask him and he’ll take all your pain and suffering away” before I could shut him down. I looked up, and the kid was gone.
He’d grown up with a great family in a really nice neighborhood. He was a great student and athlete. He had friends. He was the one they relied on to be their rock. His dad was a preacher and his mom was a teacher. But he was tormented by his own demons, and was already an alcoholic-addict at 13.
I grabbed a mutual acquaintance he trusted Ace were left to find him immediately. He wasn’t at any of his usual haunts, and we finally stopped by his house, thinking we at least had to fill his fills in on what had happened.
We checked his room, and there he was, hanging from the ceiling.
He’d written a note. He needed to find answers, and he trusted us when we told him we could help him find his own answers, all he had to do was ask. He showed up at the meeting that night to find me, heard all the same crap he’d heard all his life and really, really tried hard to believe, and it never worked.
He felt like there was no reason to keep trying if he was only going to get the same answers in that room he’d grown up with.
So he found a solution that was bigger than his problem; the ultimate solution.
I stopped trying to sponsor teenagers that day for years, only in recent years reaching out to others. It was too much, too soon.
It’s taken seeing headlines with other kids, other families heartaches, other friends devastated to the point they themselves may not return to reach out again and offer my hand, experiences and the hope I found.
But I do. Very few take a person up on the offer, but I hope to spot the signs before it’s too late.
And when someone does, then approaches me later, maybe years later, and simply says “thank you”, it’s worth it. If they don’t, but I never see their name in the obituaries, I still consider it worth it.
I'm so very sorry for this tragedy.... I understand what it is like to blame oneself.. That is the hardest thing to live with. I can only hope you find forgiveness for all that happened. I am sure both your son who tragically passed, and your partner would want you to NOT live on torture and regret. I hope you fond peace in some form.. know that it is possible. Speak to them as if they can hear you.. Because I believe they can and do..
Incredible work of writing. I’ve been within inches of taking my own life after PTSD ravaged my brain from 25 years of being a firefighter/paramedic. Really amazing article. Thank you.
I can sympathize. Thankz for your service and fighting the trauma.💞🙏
This is so helpful . 7 years ago my dear brother died in this way. The flames of living had become too intense. He wanted peace.
Thank you for sharing
I'm so sorry. Thank you for reading.
I have also been touched by this with the loss of my Father. I hope that you have undergone healing and have found some peace yourself. I also love the way you described it: "The flames of living had become too intense." Thank you.
🌹
Profound. “What brought him to the point where the terror of life now outweighs the terror of death?” Closing my eyes and wishing peace from terror to him. 🤍
Beautifully written. It hurt.
Beautifully profound 💗 Take care
Powerful essay. I live with clinical depression and have been there. Unless a person has experienced it themselves, they won't understand how painful depression is.The flames have approached me many times.
I understand. Me too.
I understand, me too.
💗
How beautifully, hauntingly written. Someone else said it better than I could: "You have a deep well", my friend. Your words hit me as hard as those quoted from Wallace and Camus. During my 8 years in the Marine Corps, I saw some of the worst that the world has to offer in far off places. However, one incident that still haunts me at times was the Suicide of a young Lance Corporal in my charge. He had recently gone through a bad break up, and at 21, that pain must have seemed insurmountable to him. Suicide touched me again when I lost my Father to Mental Illness in 2018. His final message to me still cuts somewhere deep inside my soul that isn't generally accessible to the outside world: "There is nothing left for me; time to go and leave you all in peace."
I have undergone much grief and healing since then, and I sincerely hope that you do as well. What at the time seemed completely unfathomable and baffling, has now given me a sense of humble understanding--or at least the authentic attempt thereof, and I think your essay captured that perfectly. It is good to know that there are kindred souls out there like yourself who also dare to delve beneath the superficial waves.
Thankful to have come across this. Philosophies of death hunts my artistic self most times.
Please write more about the things you experience and what you think and experience in the process. Wonderfully good and poignant writing!
I live with a chronic pain disorder. Every moment of every day is pain. I fall asleep to pain and awake to it. I dream of pain. Thoughts of suicide to me are not about hopelessness, but the hope of ending the suffering.
I remain for those I love and mostly for a sweet little girl that I cannot bring myself to take a father from, no matter how many flames I must suffer.
I don’t blame those who do, I understand them. In some ways I envy them. More than that, I honor the time that they were able to endure, knowing that it was almost certainly for their own loved ones. Maybe even to give something to society as a whole before they leave.
At the end of it all, everyone dies. How you lived is much more important than how you died.