Anyone Interested?

July 1999 On A Canal Holiday In England

I am not feeling well today. I have a slight fever and my throat feels… well I don’t how to better describe it other than to say that I am aware that it is there! I will not be going to yoga today, I will miss that.
But staying in bed, in my light filled bedroom, with the lovely view of the garden… well, it would be lovely if it wasn’t barren, but even so, now and then a squirrel comes into view, birds too, and should it snow, I’d have a prime view right from my bed.
I also have three framed pictures of Andrew, in my room. They are amongst my favorite of him, and they are positioned so that I can see at least one of them no matter which way I am lying.
I had planned to finally do some ironing today – you know how much I enjoy it, it’s like therapy -
but it doesn’t look as if today is going to work either. What I’ll do instead, here in bed, is go through some old picture albums. I must say, before the advent of digital cameras and being able to look at pictures on the computer; taking photographs, having them printed, waiting a few days before collecting them and finally being able to see them – was an event. Today’s immediacy is convenient, but….. as with all the apps (whatever they are) it cultivates reaction rather than patience and reflection.
Talking about patience and reflection is making me think about meditation. Since my article: A Suicide At Bobst, was published on the Huffington Post, I have received offers by certified meditation teachers, to teach a class or more if anyone is interested.
Are you interested? Please let me know.
And now I’ll look at some pictures.

A Big Surprise For Robert

Lynn, Adele, Ed, Dede and Alicia

Lynn, Adele, me, Dede and Alicia

Robert's friends hiding

A surprised Robert arrives at the Restaurant with Scott and Nate

Robert hugging me

Enjoying the scene

When I got home the red light on the answering machine was blinking, two messages were waiting. I pushed the “play” button.
“Hello Esmeralda, it’s Adele,” the message said before the machine cut her off.
“Esmeralda, it’s Adele, call,” and the machine cut her off again.
“This answering machine has become so erratic,” I said, turning to my husband. “I have to send an email, then I’ll call Adele back.
When I went on line, there was an email from Adele waiting for me.

“Hello, Esmeralda!” it said.
“Lynn suggested a great idea that we are trying to organize, and that is to have a surprise birthday party for Robert. We’ve read in your blog that it was his birthday (very moving and beautiful entry, by the way). So, we’ve rounded up people to see if they are available and most are. The question is: IS ROBERT AVAILABLE? Our thoughts were to surprise him. We would take the boys to lunch at GASHO on Route 9a in Hawthorne (since he’s already been to the Outback for his birthday) and then to a movie. Lynn and I are willing to do the driving, etc. so the only thing we would need from you is to help us outwit Robert (we would like to surprise him) by letting us know his plans and then telling him I’ve asked him to lunch and a movie in honor of his birthday, or some such thing. Lynn has offered to have cake for the boys after the movie at her house, to which I hope you would come as well.
I’m hoping he is indeed available. Sorry for the short notice but we just had this brainstorm after reading your blog.”

Let me know!
Adele

“Come and read this,” I called out to my husband. “Isn’t this amazing? Isn’t it wonderful?”
I was so excited for Robert that I could hardly stay in my seat. And I was deeply moved by this spontaneous act of kindness, of goodness, of generosity, that even though I was happy, I cried (daily occurrence I’m afraid.)
Robert’s birthday a few days earlier had been quiet, subdued. All of us painfully aware of Andrew’s absence. Last year for Robert’s birthday, (to my horror, I admit) Andrew had given his younger brother a motorbike’s helmet, with the promise, “If Mummy agrees,” he had said, to take him for rides in the summer. And he had, and Robert had loved everyone of them. Only the day before I had found Robert sitting in his room, wearing the helmet that Andrew had given him. My heart had contracted.
This offer of a surprise birthday party seemed like manna from heaven; as soon as I steadied myself, I called Adele and after I don’t know how many thank yous and wows from my part, we got down to strategy.
“Did you know that Robert has been bugging Scott (Adele’s older son and Nate’s older brother) to take him and Nate to Chicken Joe’s?”
“Yes, I heard.”
“When he comes home from school, I ‘ll tell him that you called to say that Scott would take him and Nate to Chicken Joe’s as a birthday treat.”
After agreeing on the pick up time, Adele asked me if I was free to join for the lunch since she, Lynn and some of the mothers who had offered to drive the children to the restaurant, were staying on.
“And if you want to see Robert’s face when he arrives,” Adele said. ” I’ll tell Scott him to make a couple of detours after he picks Robert up, so that you can get to the restaurant before they do.”
Absolutely, I agreed. I have to tell you that I was so excited for Robert that I couldn’t way for Saturday to come.

The plan worked without a hitch, Robert had no idea of the surprise in store for him.
In the end, to make sure that I got to the restaurant before he did, I said that I was going shopping and left the house before Robert. When I got there the car park was virtually empty, and my white mini with the ANDREW20 number plate would have given the game away, so I ended up parking at the top with the garbage. The car was completely hidden.
The surprise and joy on Robert’s face when he walked into the restaurant to see some twelve of his friends springing out from under the table to sing (shout) Happy Birthday Robert, was balm to my heart as I am sure it was to Robert’s. And since I am sure that Andrew was watching, it must have been balm to his astral heart as well. Hugh and Florentina were very happy too when I recounted every detail and showed them the pictures.

“By the way,” I asked Scott. “What did Robert say when you drove into Gasho?”
“Oh, I told him that I was going for a quick job interview.”
“And you believed him?” I laughed, turning to Robert.
“I thought it was a bit strange, but yes, I believed him.”

After the restaurant, and the movie, the day ended at Lynn’s house with more food for the children, drinks for the grown ups, which this time included some of the husbands and a delicious birthday cake.
Well, when I say that the day ended, I mean for us, because the party continued on at Adele’s house where they had a sleep-over. We didn’t see Robert until two o’clock in the afternoon the following day, when he came home to do his homework; before rushing out again to a Super Bowl party at a friend’s house.
Wow, what a week-end.
I’ve said thank you to Lynn and Adele and the mothers who helped with the driving, but this is one of those occasions when thank you doesn’t even BEGIN to say thank you.
Lynn, Adele and the rest of the party, you gave Robert a joy filled week-end, you gave him plenty of opportunities to genuinely smile. You displayed the best of human qualities, selfless generosity, kindness and love. In Hindu fashion, I bow my head to you in gratitude.
With Love,
Esmeralda

A Candid Email From An NYU Graduate – Class 0f ‘09

Since my article – Suicide At Bobst – was published on the Huffington Post, as well as the many comments on the HP itself, I have received numerous emails with comments on the subject of the article.
The following, is one of those emails.

Dear Esmeralda,

“…I cannot begin to imagine what pain you must be
feeling at this time. One of my other friends from NYU learned of his own
mother’s suicide during the week of his high school graduation. He’s doing a lot
better now emotionally, but it took him several years of therapy before he could
fully move on. And even so, it’s not something one can ever completely overcome…”

I really appreciated what you wrote about John Sexton in your article. NYU’s
penchant for glossing over its student suicide pandemic always disturbed me.
It’s just another facet of how the school disregards its student body. I, for
one, graduated from NYU with a 3.9 G.P.A., and the school did almost nothing to
help me find a job. My current plight doesn’t begin to approach the weight of
yours, but I do–as far as NYU is concerned–fully agree with and support your
cause.
God bless you and your family, too. I will keep you in my prayers. Feel free to
contact me at any time–if I can do you a favor, or if you just want to vent.

Sincerely,
xxxxxxxxx
——————–

Keeping The Conversation Going

Conversation

I am very pleased with the enormous traction generated by my article: Suicide at Bobst, on the Huffington Post.
Some people agreed with my ideas about yoga and meditation, others didn’t, and others still were outraged; but that’s what a dialogue is about. I don’t expect everyone to agree, no. The point though is that at least people are engaged, that they care or feel strongly enough to take the time to make their views known.
The reaction to my article also proved that while people don’t talk about it, suicide is “big,” lurking beneath the surface but unreported. In fact, suicide is a subject that the media does not seem to like to talk about, unless it is the suicide of a celebrity, of someone famous.
But then the media covers what they know people want to hear. It is up to us to raise our voices and let them know that too many precious lives are lost to suicide, and a bit less talk about what this or that celebrity wears, or how much weight they’ve put on or lost, would be more helpful to society and would better justify the enormous paychecks they get.
Come on Larry King, Meredith Vieira, Matt Lauer, etcetera, etcetera

My Article on Huffington Post

In the predawn hours of November 3, 2009, my beloved twenty-year-old son, Andrew Williamson-Noble, died by suicide. He jumped from the 10th floor of Bobst, NYU’s main library. He chose the same spot that others had before him…

READ MORE

Three Months Have Passed

The atrium of NYU'S Bobst library where Andrew died

 

Yesterday, February 3rd, marked the third month since Andrew died.
Unreal though it seems, day after day, three months have passed. Thanksgiving came and went, Christmas came and went. The year 2009 gave way to a new year at the stroke of midnight, on the last day of December.
The more time passes, the harder it is to imagine that Andrew is away at college.
Like earthquake survivors that in the first few days after a quake have high hopes of finding their loved ones alive. Then, as time wears on, when no hope is left of finding any more survivors, still they cling to hope.
After all, hasn’t everyone heard stories of the child, the man or the woman who was found after eleven days, twelve days… why not their loved one? Why not my Andrew?
Why couldn’t this be a bad dream? That’s what it seems like anyway. From the moment we were woken up with the news that Andrew had been found dead in the Library at NYU, we entered a nightmare.
The phone calls, the screams… ANDREW IS DEAD, ANDREW IS DEAD, the rush to St. Vincent’s hospital.
My Andrew, as handsome as ever, lying on a bed sleeping; but dead.
His hair , spread around his head, soft and lustrous,smelling of his favorite shampoo.
But my cries, my wailing, my howling, my talking, my kisses; NOTHING stirred him from his slumber. 

But he is alive in my heart. That is where I must learn to look for him.
But, Andrew… it’s not easy. We all miss you SO MUCH.

Back To The Outback

We have a long history with the Outback. This a picture taken at the '97 SIDS Walkthon. Little Andrew is in front of the Wombat sign, having walked 9 miles on the Aqueduct Trail

Yesterday was Robert’s birthday. While he was at school I went to my yoga class. I enjoy the meditative quality of this class. The emphasis on breath and body awareness and the yogic poses quickly draw the attention inward. During the hour-long class I get a respite from the world and from myself.
Still, lying down in Syvana at the end of the class, images of Andrew flood my mind and overwhelming sadness floods my body. No whys, if this or if that; only ocean deep sadness.
On the way to my car, tears streaming down my face and past my sunglasses, I bump into an acquaintance. She looks familiar but through the tears and the dark sunglasses I don’t immediately recognize her.
“Esmeralda?” she says stopping in front of me. “It’s Amy.”
“Oh Amy, hi.”
“How are you?” she asks and immediately adds “Stupid question,” seeing that I am crying.
“It’s hard,” I admit.
“I read your blog every day,” she tells me.
“Oh,” I say shuffling my feet. “Are you going to Yoga?”
“Yes.”
“Nice to see you Amy,” I say. “And thank you for everything,” I add, suddenly remembering the help and support she offered when Andrew died.

When Robert came home from school, a few birthday cards with “goodies” inside from his granny and aunt from England were waiting for him. He opened them with great relish and was pleased with the contents.
Our young friend David, who left three weeks ago in the pursuit of happiness on the sea, had sent Robert a present and now he called him, they chatted for a long time and I could see that Robert was happy to hear from him. Then it was the turn of the Italian contingent to call to convey their “Auguri, buon compleanno.”
Eventually, when Robert settled down to do his homework, I sat at my laptop and didn’t get up until I finished a piece for the Huffington Post.
By the time Hugh and Florentina arrived from the city, it was time to go out for dinner. No arguing this time as we had done on Christmas Eve, we went to The Outback.
Reeling with memories from the moment we drove into the car park, I steeled myself as we walked into the restaurant.
“Andrew and I ate a whole blooming onion once,” Robert said, breaking the ice and lifting the awkwardness we all felt.
Stretching my arm across the table, I took the stack of beer mats and as Andrew used to do, I built a house of cards, it fell apart quickly, then Florentina had a go while Robert instructed her according to Andrew’s technique.
When the table was cleared, Robert got his Sydney Sinful Sundae. It came with a lit candle on top and all the waiters and waitresses gathered around the table to sing Happy Birthday to a blushing Robert.
But the celebration wasn’t over yet. A birthday cake was waiting at home for Robert.
Before blowing out the fifteen candles, he remembered his brother, I nearly burst into tears but Florentina kicked me under the table and I quickly steadied myself.

“I hope you enjoyed your birthday,” I said to Robert before going to bed.
“It was great,” he said stoically, and we kissed each other goodnight.

Robert’s Birthday

Andrew and Robert

“You are going to be fifteen tomorrow,” I said to Robert, sitting on my bed last night.
“It will be my first birthday without Andrew,” he said after a while.
I had thought the same thought. I hugged him tight and in vain wished that I could take this pain away from him.
I remembered his first birthday, in February 1996. Hugh had bought a scrumptious chocolate ganache cake, six year-old Andrew and eight year-old Florentina had written birthday cards for both Robert and Alexander.
The card for Robert’s twin was stapled to the string of a blue, helium filled balloon. Holding Robert in my arms, Florentina and Andrew on either side of Hugh, we went outside to the front lawn. We stood in a circle for a few moments, then I gently prised the balloon’s string from Robert’s little fingers and released it to the heavens with our birthday wishes for Alexander.
Four months earlier, at seven and half months old, Robert’s twin had died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. For months Robert looked for his twin, and whenever he saw another baby he would get all excited.
The first Christmas after Alexander died, after school one afternoon, Andrew burst through the door, his face flashed with excitement, and ran up to me.
“I know how we can get Alexander back,” Andrew said. “We can ask Father Christmas to bring him back.”

While it did not erase the sadness, the passage of time and the work we did to raise money and awareness for SIDS eventually brought us peace and acceptance. But Robert, even though he no longer remembers his twin, always felt that his was the biggest loss.

Over the years, particularly as they both grew older, Robert and Andrew developed a close relationship.
Whenever Andrew came back from college before anything else, he would look for his “wee Robert,” wee is little in Scottish.
Andrew used to like sneaking one or two magic candles on Robert’s birthday cake, then laugh watching Robert blow them out only to see them light up again.
Even when he was away at college in Philadelphia, before he transferred to NYU, Andrew came home for his little brother’s birthday.
But this year he is not coming. Not in person any way.
We have some beautiful framed pictures of him, we have our memories. And I am sure that Andrew will be present in spirit. And who knows, he might even find a way of letting us know that he is with us.

Happy Birthday Dear Robert.

In Memoriam – By Kathleen Reckling

As anticipated, Saturday January 30th, the Super Fencing Saturday when the Andrew Williamson-Noble Spirit Award was presented, was a bitter sweet day for our family.
Everyone there knew that Andrew had died by suicide. The dialogue and reflection leading up to the event and on the day itself, proved a great opportunity to raise awareness of the issue and to stress the importance of education, communication and dialogue amongst students, families and educators. A number of the fencers at the Super Saturday, were college bound seniors, they and their parents had an opportunity to learn more about suicide and that there are resources available for students who need help, and for parents of students who need help.
Within the fencing community Andrew was loved and respected and known as the “lefty,”  that competing fencers dreaded fencing against.

Here is what Kathleen wrote:

It was the night of Santa Con and Greenwich Village was ablaze with red faux velvet, an undulating lopsided ocean of woolly-white artificial beards. The chill in the air was bone-cracking, the wind unforgiving, and it was unlikely that my parents and I had braved the narrow streets of Manhattan’s lower westside to participate in this costumed pub-crawl. Our mission was more deliberate and more solemn. We were bound for the famed Bitter End, in part to do what all Bitter Enders do, to listen to a band play a set, but mostly we were there to say good-bye to a young man lost too early.

On November 3, 2009, Andrew Williamson-Noble, a 20-year old Junior at NYU, committed suicide by jumping from the 10th floor of his university’s Bobst Library. He was lonely, reports said. You might have read about it; you might have noticed the name; you might have seen his picture in the paper; but you probably forgot about Andrew and grouped him in with that flurry of NYU jumpers that had been lost before — tragic, you probably said and left it at that. We refuse to leave it at that.

My parents and I met Andrew when he was a high school student at Irvington. He had been instrumental in getting a fencing team started there and my mother had been its first coach. At the time, she and I were also coaching at Ardsley, and how she managed to survive the two-practice nights I still wonder. I know Andrew’s support made it easier. He had that take-charge attitude that made him a reliable leader, a wicked sense of humour that made him fun to be around, and a passion to win that made him a dangerous competitor. Of the many kids that have come through the fencing teams, Andrew remains one of our favorites.

That night at the Bitter End, as we listened to Ippazzi sing for Andrew, my mother and I , in a teary moment of inspiration, decided to establish an award in his memory — an award that would remind kids that as long as they’re a fencer, as long as they’re an athlete, they’re never alone. For the last few weeks we’ve been immersed in organizing the Andrew Williamson-Noble Spirit Award for Leadership and Sportsmanship — a scholarship that will be bestowed on 2 students from each of the 5 high school teams that make up the New York State Section I Varsity Fencing League. Tomorrow (Sat. Jan 30), at the League championship tournament, we’ll present a total of approximately $3,000 to 11 very deserving athletes.

In the letter to the recipients we say: “The Award remembers his spirit and leadership and recognizes those fencers who, like Andrew, contribute to the sense of community and camaraderie on their team. The best leaders don’t just contribute wins – they are team players who promote unity and inspire excellence…Fencing is a community, a place to belong regardless of background, age, ability, or aspirations.” And it’s true.

I remember walking onto the Columbia campus as a freshman and being terrified about, well, everything. Would my public school education match up to that of my peers? Would I make any friends? These are fears we all have when we start college, but there was one advantage I had most freshman don’t: when I walked through the gates at 116th, I already had 20 friends in my teammates – I’d known most of them since I started fencing as a high schooler. Sure the sport has been the cause of some strife in my life — I can’t say I’ve smiled the whole way through the “athletic journey.” But it always provided me with a safety net to fall back on. It was always a stabilizing force that kept me focused, taught me to recover and to move forward. It taught me how to be the “master of my fate,” “the captain of my soul.”

After high school, Andrew moved onto Drexel before transferring to NYU. In that time, he moved away from fencing — an activity, his mother said, that always brought him joy. We can’t look back on the last few years and say, well if Andrew had been fencing… “What ifs” are entirely inappropriate. We can only look forward with the hope that tomorrow’s award presentation and Andrew’s story touches those it needs to, so that The Andrew Williamson-Noble Spirit Award will remain the only of its kind.

______________________________________________________________

My family and I are deeply grateful to the Reckling and the Getz families, the Westchester-Rockland Division of the United States Fencing Association and to all the fencers and their coaches.
From the bottom of our hearts, THANK YOU!!!!!!!

Common Misconceptions About Suicide

Andrew with my younger brother and his sister in Sicily off the coast of the Egadi Islands. Summer 2007

Since Andrew’s suicide, I have often thought that had my son not been able to get to the tenth floor of NYU’s library, Bobst, he would not have killed himself. The moment would have passed and he would have lived to see another day, and another and another. He would still be here today. Since his death, there have been people who have told me in confidence of their own suicide attempts, and they have told me how grateful they are now that at the time, something or someone prevented them for carrying out their plans. But suicide is a subject that is shoved under the rug, as a result it is shrouded in mystery and misunderstanding. I know that first hand from the way NYU reacted to my son’s death; they put out a statement and after that it was back to business by 9 a.m. I also know it from the internet chatter that followed his death. Some commentators criticized the library itself as well as NYU’s lack of security, while others wrote that when someone is determined to kill himself, he’ll find a way. Instinctively I have felt the latter not to be true and I am pleased to have found my instincts supported by research, and by the literature put out by The Samaritans. Here is what they say about suicide:

“…Most people can be helped in getting through their moment of crisis if they have someone who will spend time with them, listen, take them seriously and help them talk about their thoughts and feelings. Almost every suicidal crisis has at its center a strong ambivalence: “I can’t handle the pain anymore,” but not necessarily, “I want to be dead forever!” What most suicidal people want is not to be dead but some way to get through the terrible pain they are experiencing and someone they can turn to during those terrible moments of fear and desperation.
The Samaritans they say, “You don’t save the life of a person who is feeling suicidal, you help him or her get through the moment.”

Common Misconceptions About Suicide
There are many myths and misconceptions people have about suicide. The most common include:

“People who talk about suicide won’t really do it.”
NOT TRUE The majority of people who attempt suicide do or say something to express their intention before they act. Do not ignore threats or statements like, “I wish I was dead” or “You’ll be sorry when I’m gone,” no matter how casually they may be stated.
“Anyone who tries to kill him or herself must be crazy.”
NOT TRUE Most people have reasons for their suicidal feelings. They may be upset, grief-stricken, depressed or despairing, but are not necessarily suffering from mental illness.
“If a person is determined to kill him or herself nothing is going to stop them.”
NOT TRUE Even the most severely depressed person has ambivalent feelings about suicide. Most suicidal people do not want to die, they just want their pain to end. Most depressions, with time, will alleviate and the suicidal impulses will, ultimately, dissipate.
“Talking about suicide may give someone the idea.”
NOT TRUE You don’t create self-destructive feelings in another person. Talking with someone about his or her suicidal feelings may lead to a discussion of upsetting or painful thoughts that were already there but hidden beneath the surface. Openly addressing the subject shows a willingness to help and is the first step towards intervention.”