A Response for Togakune Ojonin . . .

Good Evening, All:

I didn't write a musing last week, for several reasons (including my concern that everyone might just be getting a little tired of them). Tonight, I was browsing the forums, getting ready to hit the sack and I saw Toga's (short for Togakune - no offense intended) message about suicide.

And a goose crossed my grave.

* * *

I've always been a personal choice kind of guy. I think everyone should be free to make the choices they want to make, come hell or high water, as my grandmother, who was an extraordinary human being (you'll learn why in just a few moments) used to say. I belive in a person's right to chose between right and wrong, good and evil, and all those shades of gray that blend between. I believe what makes us human beings -- and what is the essential part of our souls -- is our inherent ability to choose and, at times, to choose in error.

But there's one catch, sports fans. It is best illustrated by the following story:

While in law school, I signed up for the chance to provide pro bono representation to criminals in various state and federal courts. I learned a lot that semester, but topping the list was how little I knew about criminal law. Most of the time, I just listened to my clients who, frankly, knew more about the system and criminal law than I did.

One afternoon, while I was in state court, I witnessed a man get sentenced to fifteen years in prison for breaking into a house at night (otherwise known as burglary). It was a first offense and a classmate of mine was arguing, unsuccesfully, for a shorter prison term because the man had two small children. I was blessed with a rare moment of sensativity and I felt a certain sympathy for a man whose kids would be teenagers or older the next time he would get take them out for pizza.

Sitting next to me was my client, who luckily didn't need a lot of fancy representation because he was as guilty as sin. He voiced an extremely harsh opinion of the other prisoner, who was now crying in open court. "He's not weak," I snapped, angered by my client's callous attitude. "He's going to jail for over a decade."

My client gazed at me with eyes sharpened by hard wisdom. Even several years later I can tell you these eyes were grey green and were glittering with amusement when he asked: "You are a fresh one, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly aware that he was probably my third, possibly second, client.

"We have a rule here, Pilgrim. Don't do the crime if you can't do the time."

* * *

Every choice has consequences and sometimes these consequences are bad. What separates us from the animals is our ability to imagine these consequences and to, subsequently, avoid those crimes whose consequences are beyond our strength. But even with the best of judgment, we still make choices that hurt us and, even worse, hurt others. With these choices comes a certain pain and the balm that heals that pain is the hope that someday we will be given the chance to fix the mistake, to make up for our shortcomings.

Of course, there is one exception to this rule and that is when we commit suicide.

Suicide, obviously, is the permanent choice. Once done, it cannot be undone no matter how painful or terrible or wrong the choice may be in retrospect. The damage to ourselves and our loved ones goes on forever and ever without hope for repair.

* * *

On a beautiful October day some fifty years ago, my grandmother was doing dishes in the farmhouse that was her and my grandfather's home. She was feeling better than she'd felt in a long time, partly because of the beautiful day and partly because my grandfather was returning that day from a business trip which they were hoping would land him a steady income. My grandfather had returned from the war, unable to find work, and this was the first real opportunity to come their way in well over a year. They had three small children. They needed this opportunity.

They were hoping for this opportunity.

She was putting away the dishes when she heard a loud thumping on the floor upstairs. She would later say she knew -- even without knowing -- that something very terrible was happening. She wanted to run from the house, to run for the gravel road and just keep running. Instead, she screamed for my father and his brother, both children, and ran upstairs.

My grandfather was in the attic of the house, a bottle of strychnine on the floor beside him. The farm was forty-five miles from a hospital. It took him thirty minutes to die. He did not regain consciousness. He did not leave a note.

In the aftermath, my grandmother discovered that the "opportunity" had been nothing more than my grandfather going to a major midwestern city to find work. No one knows what happened while he was in the city. Maybe he didn't find work. Maybe he found work and couldn't part with giving up a farm that had been his family for generations. Maybe he thought he was a failure. Maybe he was just tired.

My grandmother raised three children by herself. She worked the farm for five years and then sold it and moved to the city where she now lies in a nursing home, waiting to die. She never remarried.

One night I asked her about it. I was in college and I was living with her for awhile. Maybe it was just my naturally morbid curiosity. Maybe I was looking for something and just didn't know it. She told me a lot of things. She told me about pain, lonliness, an inability to trust. She told me things I'd rather she hadn't. I'm afraid to say it but before she was done sharing her pain with me, I was sorry I'd brought it up. Sorry for me and sorry for her.

Then she told me about the nightmares.

It seemed even thirty and forty years after the incident, she had nightmares. She would dream she was back on the farm and it was dark sunny day -- the kind of Illinois day when the sky is a deep azure blue but there just a dark edge on the horizon, like a storm is about to roll in from just beyond the trees. She can hear my grandfather's truck coming down the gravel road, fast and hard, and she's trying to find a place to hide because now she can hear his voice in her head.

"I'm coming to get you. I'm coming to get you."

* * *

I am sorry for what I am about to say. I have no patience with people who commit suicide. Everyone has problems, even terrible problems, even heart-rendering, never-ending problems, the kind of problems that won't go away with a mountain of faith and wishes. But we go on and we do so with hope and the realization that no matter how bad we have it, someone else has it worse.

There's a man on my block who has a daughter with Down's Syndrome. I see them walking sometimes, him with his arm around her. Her face is an irreparable mess and she will never say a coherent word.

I have a Catholic friend (well, I have a LOT of Catholic friends) whose wife has had eight straight miscarriages. Following the last miscarriage, which occurred in a hospital (they were told the baby would be born premature and instead it was born dead) a young priest approached them and asked them (I swear to God) if he could watch them grieve, to gain experience.

The father of my best friend from law school was forced into bankrupty just as his son was graduating. I cannot imagine the state of his mind as he watched his son in one of his most important moments of success, knowing that success had disappeared from his life like a dying comet.

I have no patience with suicide because suicide is a lie.

I'm not the biggest fan of Lord of the Rings. No, I didn't wear a costume on opening night. But there's one part of the book/movie I'd like you to think about: when Frodo is given the elvin light, it is given with the promise that it will be a light to guide him when all other lights fail him.

I like to think that light is hope and that hope is always with us. And that is why suicide is a lie.

The Shadow One

:duel:

I'd like to write something funny here, but I'm not feeling funny right now.

Very insightful...a truly excellent read :bow:

Thank you for sharing your experiences and thoughts in this thorough and well-written post, The Shadow One.

I am a rather fanatical fan of Tolkien's work, having read most of his books periodically, again and again, for more than 30 years. There are several idealistic quotes, including the one you mentioned, that have inspired me. Regretable that literary idealism fades so quickly in the face of a harsh and unforgiving reality.

"I have no patience with people who commit suicide."

Well, I hope you will try to have patience with someone whom you suspect is seriously considering suicide. Your attention, or lack thereof, could be a deciding factor in their choice. In my experience, the lack of patience in such matters is often followed by abandonment--of friends, of family--depriving an individual in dire need of a thing which they desperately need.

I actually prefer being addressed as Toga. Most mispell my full monicker anyway, which is really a title, not a name. It's "Togakure" btw, ~:) .

Thanks again, much appreciated.

An afterthought:

"There's a man on my block who has a daughter with Down's Syndrome. I see them walking sometimes, him with his arm around her. Her face is an irreparable mess and she will never say a coherent word.

I have a Catholic friend (well, I have a LOT of Catholic friends) whose wife has had eight straight miscarriages. Following the last miscarriage, which occurred in a hospital (they were told the baby would be born premature and instead it was born dead) a young priest approached them and asked them (I swear to God) if he could watch them grieve, to gain experience.

The father of my best friend from law school was forced into bankrupty just as his son was graduating. I cannot imagine the state of his mind as he watched his son in one of his most important moments of success, knowing that success had disappeared from his life like a dying comet."


One thing about all of these examples: there are loved ones in the picture, that support and cherish. One cannot make the assumption that this is the case for all of those seriously considering suicide. And I think it is very, very difficult for anyone with a support group of family and friends to accurately imagine what it's like to be truly alone. In my experience, this is exacerbated because many who find themselves in this position did have family and friends once. So they know very well what they are missing. For many, their departure would not leave a legacy of ongoing grief as depicted in your real-life story.

This does not invalidate your bottom line at all, and it is not my intent to attempt to do so. I am simply adding an angle to the subject.

Shadow,

As always, your posts are the highlight of my week. Although I suppose "highlight" is the wrong word to use in the context of this essay.

Please keep posting. If you've got it in you, post more often. You're setting a higher standard for skill, clarity and depth. Go ahead, raise the bar. It's good for our souls.

Suicide is ultimately selfish and unimaginative. Selfish because it involves putting your personal pain above the needs of everyone else in your life. Unimaginative because it supposes that the current condition cannot, will not change, and that the only answer is to press "reset." It supposes a static world, when in fact everything is dynamic.

Kill yourself, and you never, ever get a chance to make things right. Like you said in your post, Shadow, it's an irrevocable decision, a mistake which cannot be unmade.

Toga:

Thanks for both of the your comments. You're distinction between having no patience for one who commits suicide and one who is considering suicide is well noted.

I heard an intersting statistic this week while traveling. A significant number, something like 90+% of men commit suicide because of money.

It strikes me as odd, is all.

The Shadow One

:duel:

Money is the root of all evil. To remain pure, make your parents pay.

Lemur:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Lemurmania

Shadow,

As always, your posts are the highlight of my week.

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As always, thanks. I'll keep posting until I'm told to stop.

The Shadow One

:duel:

Persistence always wins.

Just money? That is plain [insert word of choice here] up. If you have loved ones - family, partner etc. you can find a way - you have love and support.
Suicide is very selfish, it is horrible to those left behind. They will wonder why and if they could have done something different. Money is important but not as important as life itself. Happiness can exist without it, once just needs to find it. Money troubles are indeed difficult but people need to try to work their way out of it.

Cheers Shadow, thought provoking that was.