The Aftermath Of Suicide: Choose Another Day

The only time in my life that I have actually been tempted to employ extreme physical violence was when I sat at my cousin Bill's memorial service and listened to a Baptist minister all but say our beautiful boy was going to Hell.

From the post I dedicated to Billbo a few years back:

Everything you believe - or think you believe - is turned upside down and inside out. And it's something one never completely gets over. The best you can negotiate with a memory like that is an uneasy peace. Bill doesn't hurt anymore. And the Savior I believe in rescues every sick/lost lamb . . .

You could say that Bill saved my own life. No matter how "visible" the darkness may be or how much of a hole you think you're in: Put one foot in front of the other and choose another day.

Helping his Mother cope with the horrific aftermath (there are no words) has been one of the great honors and privileges of my life.

There's a nice article on CNN today about parents living with the aftermath of a child's suicide, no doubt brought on by the recent deaths of the sons of Marie Osmond and Walter Koenig.

Our family will be celebrating Bill's life later this year . . . on the twentieth anniversary of his death. I'd rather be celebrating his birthday . . . and swapping war stories.

Because Bill was a warrior. He fought hard against the-darkness-that-is-visible. But sometimes it wins.

There are several songs that bring Bill to perch on my shoulder and tickle my cheek when I hear them. Here's one:



He was born in the summer of his 27th year . . . comin' home to a place he'd never been before. He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again. You might say he found a key for every door . . .

One can only hope.