Seeing the Gift in Suicide

Journal Entry, February 10, 2000

I live in eternity's light with those I love, bound by the laws of heaven, the laws of Karma, the sense and beating of the heart. Thank God for the here, and the hereafter; I am part of them both.

At the beginning, the path before me opened like a cavern, howling with the cry of a dark, ghostly presence. How was I to make the journey into that dark cave, through the mysteries and past the nightmares? How would I travel such a great distance? How was I going to see the gift in suicide, in this tragedy? Where would I go to find answers to my questions and solace for my tears? I could not even imagine the answers to those questions. But I would have to, in order to live.

Stephen Levine, in "Who Dies," says, "Every one who dies leaves a skeleton in his closet; but the suicide leaves one in yours." I knew I couldn't ignore the skeleton, couldn't make the event of my son's suicide a secret that would bring its own torture and its own retribution. Facing my demons has meant refusing to remain silent, refusing to accept the shame of the last taboo, for today suicide is the last taboo. Facing suicide has meant weeping tears I didn't know I had to shed. Looking has meant testing my own faith and my own fear. Beautiful, terrible--surviving suicide has been another path from fear to faith.

How sharp the thorn, how bright the rose of memory, how piercing the pain, as though just today it had happened. Remembering is always like a cold shot of ice in my heart, like the first stab of the sword, deep, leaving its deadly wound. And how cold the winter was without him. I knew I could not go around the terrible place I now have come to know so very well. I had to go through it.

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