we talk about death and dying in our house:
the process, the feelings, the smell, the fears, and the theology.
so when my sister flew home early from her most recent international adventure to attend the memorial of a close friend, there was significant conversation about his death and the accompanying "stuff" that comes with something so unexpected
{suicide}
he was young - too young.
our oldest {almost 10} sat close as i whats-apped my sister across the ocean about the details, the feelings, the stigma, the questions, and the memories.
as i was furiously typing into my phone, he asked me, "hey mama, how'd he die?"
our oldest already knew the friend had killed himself so what he was really asking about was the mechanism of death.
my husband wasn't home and i was not ready for this conversation.
i said, "hang on, babe" and kept typing furiously - willing him to lose interest.
he eventually started reading his book and didn't ask again.
{phew}
later that night, my husband and i discussed the inevitability of our son asking the question again.
we discussed our feelings about disclosure and discussed the strong encouragement i'd received to withhold disclosure.
i think i dreamed about it that night.
i still was not ready when i woke up.
but that was okay because he didn't ask
until he got in the car on the way home from school.
{ready or not...}
"So, um I really want to ask you something, he starts, but I am not sure you'll answer me."
"I mean, I guess I want to know how he died. I know he killed himself but, like, how did he do it?"
{shit shit shit shit}
"You are right, I said, I feel a little mixed about telling you. On one hand, Daddy and I have always said when you ask us life questions, we will be open with you and tell you the truth about things - with age appropriate details. I guess in this case, the whole subject of suicide feels like a more mature topic and I don't feel as resolved about talking about the details"
"But I just keep thinking about it and wondering about it."
Do you talk about suicide with others? Friends or teachers or...?
{trying to buy myself time}
"No but I have read about it...in some of my books and heard about it in movies or shows."
"What kinds of ways have you heard about people killing themselves?"
As he shared his knowledge with me, I was struck by its depth - how much he had already picked up from the world around him and how much more comfortable he was at talking about it / putting it into his own words than I was.
In that moment, I decided to tell him, using his words: "he choked himself." "Oh," he said, "that is really sad. [pause] Why do you think he choked himself?"
{I remembered two summers ago when our oldest had an hour+ meltdown in the car - a surge of emotions and feeling helpless - and how in the darkest moments of that meltdown he confessed that he wanted to hurt himself...to kill himself. We still don't know how those words even made their way to his lips but as we sat parked in the driveway after school...}
I decided to go there.
To talk about those dark feelings humans have: hopelessness and disconnection and fear and loneliness and anger.
To talk about my own {irrational?} worries about having this frank conversation, giving him ideas...about this conversation romanticizing suicide.
To talk about the reality of his knowing the depth of those feelings and my hope for him to maintain connections and to reach out when he feels himself in those depths of despair.
To talk about the indelible grief and sadness and guilt that remains for family and friends when someone takes their own life.
We went there.
In the driveway.
With the heat blasting and the music turned way down.
He reached out for the door handle and I said,
"hey bubs, one more thing...
Sometimes you are going to push me, push your dad away - because that is part of growing up and being your own person - but please remember that we are here for you (as are lots of other family/friends).
You might feel all alone but you are never alone."
"Yeah, I know that," he said and climbed out of the car.
