Suicide is Not Selfish

During the week, I read a post on facebook about a bystander who was travelling on a train when unfortunately a man took his own life. Why did he choose to end his life this way, affecting the train driver, the passengers, police, ambulance personnel, railway staff? Why did he not choose a more private venue to end his life? Why, in fact was he so selfish? Such were the facebook post musings - comments were many - 'poor you' they seemed to echo. The man who died almost forgotten, an afterthought in his own tragedy. For he was, after all, someone's son, perhaps a husband or father, almost certainly a relative and friend. The loss of someone through suicide is tragic but never selfish. How much choice is there, when their thoughts are so confused and made irrational by pain? I've seen that pain etched on the face of my late husband, witnessed his struggle daily as he tried to shake off the black dog which held him in its vice like grip. He felt there was no choice - it was to him a course of action which seemed logical, that we would, perhaps be somehow better off, even though those lof us eft behind faced a lifetime of guilt and pain. I'm sorry for the witnesses, especially the train driver when the bystanders left him alone with his grief. Who was selfish then? I feel sadness for the man who died, his family and friends who no doubt tried to keep him here, just as we did four years ago. I can only wonder as to why my husband walked the four hundred metres to our own local railway station and ended his life in the early hours of a Sunday morning. Perhaps his pain was so great, he just needed to leave quickly. It certainly was not a choice. How could it be, when he knew his adored son would walk in his footsteps each day to catch the train to school? How could it be, when his much loved daughter played soccer on the field next door? I write this because I made a commitment when Greg died that I would not give in to the stigma surrounding suicide. I would not let his death be talked about in hushed tones, but try to raise awareness about the complexities of suicide. I don't wish anyone to have to walk in my shoes to truly understand.

Vale Gavin Larkin

After a hard fought battle with cancer, it is with sadness I write of the passing today, of Gavin Larkin founder of RUOK Day.

Thankyou Gavin for speaking out and your tireless effort in de stigmatising suicide.
Gavin's father took his own life in 1995. Gavin founded RUOK Day in 2009 and is dedicated to not only Gavin's father Barry, but all those around the world who have died by suicide and the friends and family who loved them.

At peace.

Pets and Grief

We have a terrific border collie called Buster who is now nearly four years old. Greg and I (sometimes the kids) would take it in turns to exercise him - and ourselves.
For a border collie though, Buster was sometimes lazy...yes, I know it sounds bizarre but he doesn't like to just run - there has to be some purpose to it. We never missed a day of getting out with him and now between the three of us, Buster still gets his daily dose. He is a lovable, loyal member of our family with a personality all his own.

Always alert to strangers, on the day that Greg died, he knew something was different - there had been a shift in our world - his included. His favourite place is where he can see us - on our back verandah near the kitchen door (which is a half french door) and he always barks at people (apart from us) who are in the kitchen.

On the day that Greg died, we were surrounded by friends and family...the house was continually filled with people.

Buster didn't bark once.

He set up a quiet vigil at the back door and didn't budge.

On the day of the funeral, he started escaping and would always head in the same direction.....Greg's last path.

It became a daily obsession - as soon as we left the house, Buster would be determined to escape and head off. Was he looking for Greg?

Several times people had called - they had spotted him, or held him for us. Whenever we went out, we had to lock him on the verandah or else he could dig furiously under the house, move bricks, rip wooden palings off the back of the house in his determination to tread that same path.

In the end, we had to lay paving to stop him digging his way out and he is now back to his usual placid self. Eager to walk, but only accompanied. Always, however on the alert for us - our friend and protector.

The Ripple Effect

Like the stone thrown into the calm, still water, the effects of a suicide can spread slowly, but grow larger, encompassing all those who have come into contact with our loved one.

For me,I am forever linked to the husband of a close friend who I called to help me find Greg after I found his note. He gave me strength that day in his own calm, supportive way - even though I felt how difficult this task was for him. He didn't shirk it, he held me and I sank into him, desolate. In the intervening months he has fought his own demons about that day and has come through, knowing how much he supported me, knowing that he has a quiet strength that is rarely found. His wife did too, just being there and comforting our children.
I have felt guilty yet grateful to them both.

In the aftermath, I wrote to the station master and the ambulance officers who looked after Greg when I no longer could. I apologised, and explained about Greg's illness. I hoped they'd understand. Two policewomen were also at the scene, took control, were non-judgemental and gentle, efficient and effective.So young. How could this not affect them as well. I go over my conversations with the Snr Constable again and again...did I thank them? I hope so. How many more letters do I need to write, to explain, to convey my thanks for bringing us through that nightmare. I hope our friends who stayed with us on that day and the following days know that I appreciated their presence, and if I haven't said it before, I'll say it now.

Thank you.

To those many, many friends who didn't hesitate to phone and visit, leave food and notes.

Thank you.

World Suicide Prevention Day

Another day has dawned and a quick read of today's paper reveals no mention of WSPD. Less than last year - even though the Press Council has rewritten the guidelines regarding the reporting of suicide in the media.

Glad the article I have in the Sydney Morning Herald's online edition is getting quite a few reads and some 'likes' on facebook!
My thanks for this opportunity go to Julie Robotham (Health Editor) and Mindy Laube (online Lifestyle Editor). I hope this may go some way towards raising awareness.

So today, spare a thought for the 2000 families affected by suicide within Australia annually and understand that when someone takes their own life how unwell they must have been to take such a drastic step.

Yesterday I attended the Wesley Lifeforce memorial at the Sydney Opera House and I was glad I did. It was another step in the healing and grieving process and yes, I was,for the first time surrounded by others who could empathise.

My current fundraising efforts for the Black Dog Institute are going well - it is a freezing morning here, with strong winds predicted, but Buster and I will enjoy it regardless - the sky is clear and the ocean will be in its usual splendour.

I'm always happy to see funds raised for Black Dog,as the Institute provides such a wealth of support but I can't help but think about another area we've directed funds to in the past.

Our local hospital's pysch ward.

Often under resourced, the nursing staff do a great job yet the patients often have little to occupy them during the day. Think about donating directly to your own local hospital - current magazines, board games, dvds, even that wii or exercise bike you may no longer use would go a long way to help pass the time, keep busy for those who, like Greg, were in hospital for safety reasons.

Just a thought on a day when we are thinking about suicide prevention.

Dreams

Another dream about Greg last night - this time he was laughing fit to burst while playing with our two children. His chuckling filled the dream, accompanied by the giggling children, who were years younger.....it was like I had been transported to the past and filled me with a warm feeling. Why though, were the children younger than present? - a psych would probably interpret it as perhaps a desire to go back to that time - before the black dog gripped Greg in its vice.

It was different to the other recurring dreams I have experienced where he walks through the door and says that he changed his mind - has decided his will to live is greater than his will to die. If only!
Or the dream I had just days after he died where he is standing at the doorway of our room, looking at me and then he turns and walks away.....his face was still so bereft that I thought, within the dream, 'see, that didn't make you any happier, either'.

At least in the latest dream he was laughing.

I hope he is.

Black Dog Pedometer Challenge

Wow! Two posts in one day....must post my fundraising page for the Black Dog Institute. Buster (our border collie) and I are on a mission to walk as many steps as possible during September. We can be sponsored here: