The following was sent to me by one of my readers. It so captures how I feel about those like my son, who die by suicide, that I have decided to make it into a post.
It explains why I am not angry, why I have never been angry with my son.
While I had no idea when he was alive of his inner suffering, I guess it now.
His good humor, joviality, kind heart, loyalty, beautiful smile, true though they were, they belied the torment within. Compassion, love and stoicism spurred him into putting up a happy front.
How can I be angry with him? How can I be angry when I realize how lonely he must have been, with his suffering as his only company.
I would have taken it from him; had I had half a chance. I would have stood in front of his demons with all the fury of a mother seeing her child threatened: ” GO NO FURTHER! ” I would have thundered.
I would have turned into Kali, the Hindu Goddess of destruction and turned the demons into ashes.
I would have, I would have, I would have… That’s all I can say… My Darling Andrew….
When Someone Takes His Own Life
by Norman Vincent Peale
In many ways, this seems the most tragic form of death. Certainly it can entail more shock and grief for those who are left behind than any other. And often the stigma of suicide is what rests most heavily on those left behind…..
And my heart goes out to those who are left behind, because I know that they suffer terribly. Children in particular are left under a cloud of differentness all the more terrifying because it can never be fully explained or lifted. The immediate family of the victim is left wide open to tidal waves of guilt: “What did I fail to do that I should have done? What did I do that was wrong?” To such grieving persons I can only say, “Lift up your heads and your hearts. Surely you did your best. And surely the loved one who is gone did his best, for as long as he could. Remember, now, that his battles and torments are over. Do not judge him, and do not presume to fathom the mind of God where this one of His child is concerned.”
A few years ago, when a young man died by his own hand, a service for him was conducted by his pastor, the Rev. Weston Stevens. What he said that day expresses far more eloquently than I can, the message that I’m trying to convey. Here are some of his words:
“Our friend died on his own battlefield. He was killed in action fighting a civil war. He fought against adversaries that were as real to him as his casket is real to us. They were powerful adversaries. They took toll of his energies and endurance. They exhausted the last vestiges of his courage and his strength. At last these adversaries overwhelmed him. And it appeared that he had lost the war. But did he? I see a host of victories that he has won!
“For one thing, he has won our admiration, because even if he lost the war, we give him credit for his bravery on the battlefield. And we give him credit for the courage and pride and hope that he used as his weapons as long as he could. We shall remember not his death, but his daily victories gained through his kindnesses and thoughtfulness, through his love for family and friends, for animals and books and music, for all things beautiful, lovely and honorable. We shall remember not his last day of defeat, but we shall remember the many days that he was victorious over overwhelming odds. We shall remember not the years we thought he had left, but the intensity with which he lived the years that he had. Only God knows what this child of His suffered in the silent skirmishes that took place in his soul. But our consolation is that God does know, and understands.”
We salute you Andrew, our Fallen Knight!