Suicide Impacts Many Lives, for Years to Come

I wish I could say I had a lot of memories of my mother, but I don’t. A few mismatches here and there — not much of it making sense — and nothing else. I have photos, a few stories, and little more.

You can say I am a victim of suicide. And that’s a statement it took me fifty years to come to terms with. I still have a lingering memory of that day: I was at my grandparent's apartment in Chicago, my parents were in Portugal together and the phone rang. My grandmother answered. It was my father. And he told her that her daughter was gone. My mother was just 29. I was five. Her life ended that day, and mine changed forever.

I wish I could say I had a lot of memories of my mother, but I don’t. A few mismatches here and there — not much of it making sense — and nothing else. I have photos, a few stories, and little more.

 My mother suffered from depression. It was the early 70s, and she had tried to get help. I would say that no one knew the signs of her depression, but that would not be true. Just a few years earlier her older sister had taken her own life, leaving behind three little kids. And that loss put my mother into a deep depression.

My grandparents were children of immigrants. They had survived the Depression, World War II, the prevalence of anti-Semitism, and made an upper middle class life for themselves. They gave their two daughters everything, and then saw it taken away.

So, what does it mean to be a victim of suicide? Well, for my father it was guilt, sadness, anger, instability, drinking, lack of trust, and retreating into a world of fantasy — until cancer took hold at 70. He was always smoking…

My grandparents were such strong people — they never complained, they never felt sorry for themselves — and they had their deep faith to help them. But, you could feel their loss, and they held onto me as if I were the last child on earth.

And what about me? I was not brought to the funeral, I did get by, and I turned things around and worked hard in college to earn my degree. But I never forged lasting friendships, I never had the capacity to trust people, and I never knew what to say about how we lost her. For years people would ask what had happened to my mother. And, without knowing it — they put me in quite a place. I could tell them the truth: She took an overdose of pills at 29 and died. But, where does that conversation go? They would naturally tell me that they were sorry — and it just went to an awkward place from there. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want people feeling sorry for me — never have — never will. Sorry, it just does not do it. So, I could lie — and simply say that she died of heart disease. I mean, her heart stopped, so it is kind of the truth. But, it is still wrapped in a lie. Coming from a place of shame.

And now you know what it means to be a victim of suicide. Never knowing what could have been, or who you could have been. Always a sense of sorrow. Always a sense of loss.

 No, I don’t blame her. Granted I don't know her - but I know she loved me. I know she suffered. And, I wish that somehow there could have been of more help, because it didn’t have to end that way. 

Today I just don’t think of it much — it comes to me now and then. It is as if it happened to someone else. Then, the little things remind you. If I hear that Portuguese song “Partir é morrer um pouco,” it always gets me. It is about a person leaving for a better life, not death. But there is that line, “Those who die suffer not more, but those who stay behind the pain is such, it is much worse than death.” And even though the verse has a different meaning, it just sums it all up. Suicide ends one life, but damages so many more -and we need to build better support and find ways to help those who think that they have no options.

Suicide is not a medical treatment. It should never be listed as an “option for care.” Before we go there, there is so much more we as a society can do to heal pain, and support those who struggle. For being left behind is indeed worse than death.

-Jayme H. Simões, Concord NH