Left Behind They Thought They Knew Her; But Victim Kept Pain Inside

The last time I saw my friend was at the YMCA where our sons were playing basketball. It was early one Saturday morning and I was particularly tired after a hectic week.

Selfishly, I resented yet another activity, especially when by midweek my “to do” list had already turned into a manuscript. The last thing I wanted was to visit and engage in chitchat. So when our eyes met, I briefly smiled and purposely sat away from her - a decision I would soon regret.

A short time later, basketball season finally ended. I didn’t see or think about my friend again - until I received one of those phone calls that we all dread and hope we never have to answer.

Instantly, by the tenor of the caller’s voice, I knew what I knew, something awful had happened. The hairs on the back on my neck stood at attention as I heard the words of horror, interrupted with sobs of emotion. Shocking, devastating, final. My friend had committed suicide.

Tears welled and burned my eyes so easily over the next several days, especially for her children. To my surprise, however, I cried only once for her. I was angry. She had no right to leave before her work on earth was finished. How dare she punish us this way.

But it was for myself the tears cut deepest; sorrow soon gave way to self-pity, and my emotions surrendered to the sting of guilt.

I had to admit it, I had missed a tremendous opportunity to simply talk to her that day at the Y, and I deeply regretted my decision. No, I wasn’t so arrogant as to think that I could have prevented her final act. But perhaps just a kind word, a smile, a nod of agreement might have bought her a little more time, the precious time she was quickly running out of.

At the funeral, friends’ reddened eyes met and searched one another for answers so desperately needed. Workmates, neighbors, friends all gathered to share the stories and insights of a life we thought we knew. Strangely, however, the picture that emerged was not a snapshot of health and wholeness, but rather fragments and pieces of a contorted image. She had imprinted and influenced each of us in a different way, and though we were convinced we knew her, in reality none of us knew her at all.

Her screams were silent, her cries wordless, but the warning signs were obvious. Anxiety, depression, weight change had all ebbed and crested like the ocean tides, surfacing one day, gone the next, yet often unrecognized or ignored by those around her. Without realizing, we had all become willing participants in the friendly game of benign neglect. Act interested, smile, but pretend nothing is really wrong, and by all means don’t make the mistake of becoming too involved.

Ultimately, we all lost: she to private demons who consumed her very being, and the rest to the monsters of apathy and indifference. “I am too busy,” “too tired,” “too something” - familiar chants of society’s collective illness for which there is no cure.

Call me an optimist, idealist or fool, but in my heart of hearts, I know that as long as there’s life, there’s hope. With the dawning of each new day, we’re granted yet another chance to get it right, make it better, soar higher.

I won’t make the same mistake again. Next time I’ll be there no matter what the personal cost or inconvenience.

Thankfully, I don’t question my friend’s forgiveness or the grace of a loving God, but a deeper question still remains. Will I ever be able to forgive myself? It’s a question I’ll be asking for a long time.

MEMO: J. Autumn Banks is a Walla Walla-based free-lance writer.

Why do people commit suicide? Two writers ponder the question and come up with different conclusions. See related story by Darin Z. Krogh under the headline: Left behind \ Killing yourself won’t help anyone understand you better