Note: Nine months ago my brother-in-law ended his life. This is a follow up to my previous posts on the topic.
If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK(8255). They are available to take your call 24/7. International readers should visit the website for the International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP) to find local resources. We care about you, friends.
It’s the day after Thanksgiving. I spent the holiday with my better half here in Las Vegas. I did some computer work during the day, then we went to a local casino movie theater to watch Interstellar. I won’t give anything away, but with lines like “love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends time and space” and “no parent should have to watch their child die”, it’s no wonder I had tears streaming down my face by the time the end credits did their thing.
Sometimes it’s good to feel, and frustrating not to. Sometimes it’s agonizing to feel, and tenuously comforting not to. I have blocks of time when I will have “good days” (making progress with personal and work projects, feeling hopeful and like I can actually do things, pushing thoughts of Petey’s last days and his final act away from the forefront of my consciousness) followed by “bad days” (struggling to gain momentum as if I’m walking through quicksand, feeling like I’m wasting my time or my potential, questioning what the point of all of this is, dwelling on Petey’s absence, missing him, and thinking about the evil that some humans are perfectly okay with embracing). These days used to alternate in approximately 24-hour cycles up until a few weeks ago. Now they show up and stick around for multiple planetary rotation periods at a time without respite.
My recent thought patterns feature themes revolving around Petey’s death such as “there’s no possible way to fix this” and “I’m searching for meaning in this and finding none”. Today I felt sorry for myself (not something I’m proud of), broke down and asked Petey as if he were in the room “why did you do this to us?” — truly not a fair question to ask because I know he was a kind, thoughtful and great guy, but frustration makes us think in strange ways. It’s difficult because I understand where he was coming from and what his intentions were, but I will never place the value of his reasons over the value of his life.
Yet, despite all of the disagreements I have with Petey in my own head and the stupid unanswerable questions I ask him aloud, the real question I want answered is “why did we let this happen to him?”, because that’s the thing I think I can find meaning in and fix. Still, the damage has been done. We can’t bend time, and we can’t tinker with permanence.
When my husband lost his brother and best friend nine months ago I figured I’d be the one he’d lean on for support, but his strength and wisdom keep me going on days like these. Tonight we talked about my struggle with depression that stems from searching for meaning in this devastating loss. He told me to savor the moment, to enjoy it like a bite of food that I just put into my mouth. To experience it slowly, letting the flavor unfold as it will — because for that block of time that is its purpose: to be experienced without meaning.
Here’s another look at the change in perspective that served me well tonight, perfectly illustrated in this scene from Louie where Charles Grodin enlightens Louie about the pleasures of pain, loss and love. Maybe you’ll find comfort in it as well.
Even though it hurts tremendously, I am thankful for beautiful, heartbroken, walking poem epiphanies.