The experts say, and I believe them, that some of us walking around on this earth are in so much pain that it is unbearable to linger. And further, that for those of us that can manage to put one foot in front of the other, we simply cannot understand the depths of their despair.
I believe this now but nevertheless can’t help trying to understand. I want to understand.
I think about the gym shorts that Danny hand-washed two days before he killed himself. Those shorts hung to dry in the rental unit bathroom like a flag celebrating the ordinary. It was such a pedestrian act. It was an act that suggested continuity — continuity of habit and hygiene. Wasn’t wanting to be clean for the next visit to the gym a good sign? Didn’t it point to there being a next visit to the gym?
Nothing about hand-washing gym shorts hints at having a fully formed plan to kill oneself. But Danny did have a plan.
I brought salt scrubs for the bath to Longmont. It’s one of my things, bath salts and scrubs. I suggested that Dan use them, particularly on his knees and elbows almost as if he was a battery that had corroded and could be restored. We are, after all, electrical beings, sensitive to light and water and salt.
One morning in Longmont, I was elated (yes, elated) to see that the bath salts had moved from the bathtub’s rim to the windowsill, indicating that Danny had in fact used them. He was listening. He was scrubbing off the corrosion. He wanted to live, right?
No. No, he did not want to live.
As he left that final morning, I popped open the fridge and said, “Wait! Your water bottle!” But he shook his head and left without it. That, in retrospect looks like a refusal with import.
Those days of March were rife with refusals.
But there were also some signs that looked healthy and affirming. He joined a makers’ space and went first to their orientation and next to a training on how to use their 3-D printer. He went back yet again and made a figure on the printer that was teeny tiny because he’d input the wrong dimensions. We thought he’d go back and try again but he never did.
We had some rain overnight.
One friend brought croissants this morning, another a bunch of purple/blue iris. Yet a third will come this afternoon and help me pick up the catalpa pods that litter our yard. It’s a busier day than usual but I feel up to it.
Today marks one month: March 16, 2026, April 16, 2026.
Note: Hazel can be found on insta at HazelCMonte and Maggie at rozemadly
Oh Dee, I had just sent you an email and then came here. Sending more love.
Thank you Hazel.
Dee~Oh, it is so much to try and understand. It is so hard to know how much one should be a roadblock to what may happen. I can feel it in his eyes. Not the plan, but the pain. May he be at ease.
That critter(?) is so interesting, sized too small, but with a light from within or perhaps reflecting light.
May each anniversary bring new understanding or peace or something.
xo
I’m beginning to believe that had I been an effective roadblock a month ago it may’ve only afforded a temporary reprieve. My brother talks about how the suicidal experience death as a magnet. They are irresistibly drawn to it. This metaphor helps me hold last month’s events a little more tenderly.
Dee~ Temporary. I can see that. Sending gentle hugs and lots of love.
having witnessed several family members ‘dealing’ with depression I have learned that there is a huge chasm between their despair and mine, theirs is/was on a different level altogether.
In my loneliest moments there was always a spark deep within urging me to get up and just go……I have also seen others choosing death over life, which to me is mindboggling and goes against all my instincts, and yet I respect their decision.
what I’m trying to say is: yes the experts and you are right
and there is nothing you could have done to make him change his mind
Saskia
I know this isn’t the point of you leaving this comment (which is helpful. Thank you) but I am so glad that you’re around. Doing your work. Grieving your dog. Weeding your garden.
since this post I stopped receiving your posts in my mailbox, seeing as I’m hardly indoors near my computer I didn’t check in, our phone-provider was hacked a few weeks ago, things have gone haywire……I spend most of my time in the garden or walking it seems, thinking of you and Danny from time to time, Snoopy, my parents……
Our boys drop by haphazardly, more than ever I appreciate their presence….xx
To sense it was all what he needed, I guess that can help. We, parents, can only fix so much. And the world today, well…
The world today indeed. I recently read that today’s young adults have three primary problems and one of them was suicidal ideation.
I wish, Dee, that you could hold all these events–the ordinary and those that seem to portend–more tenderly, especially on such a painful anniversary. What a beautiful photo of Danny. It looks as if he got caught smiling. Perhaps he was drawn irresistibly toward death, but from everything you’ve described, he clearly also allowed in joy and pleasure in the ordinary and the extraordinary and the love around him. He was, after all, wonderfully complicated, just like his mother. Sending love today.
Thanks Ellen. One of the prayers I have for myself is that as time goes on the trauma of late February and March will fade and the memories of other times will come to the fore.
This could happen in my world. I know the helplesssness
I think most parents experience helplessness in the face of their children (or grandchildren’s) need.
Today is the 17th, the day after the first anniversary. One of the phrases that is often given by experts is, ” it will get easier in time”. Well yes, but there will be those moments, all throughout our lives, when the searing reality of loss comes full throttle, even after many, many years.. I think of the word ease as an adjective to our stories. The main subject, the noun in our stories,is always Love. Time creates an opening for loss to step in but Love and memories frame those times and enable us to walk through…
Beautifully said. Somewhere I read it gets easier not because the loss diminishes but because we get stronger carrying its weight. But I like how you bring love in.
It is so painful. painful. Gentle hugs from me as well. That frog – wow.
I think it is meant to be a reptilian creature. But hard to tell it’s so small.
When you told me, from Longmont, that Danny had joined a Maker-space, I was so excited for him. Of course because I loved the maker-space where I taught and I felt strongly it was the perfect way to re-connect brain, heart and body, through activating one’s imagination – – that he would love “making” and it would help him get back to living life. All those signals we wanted to see as normal signs of recovery, moving forward – weren’t moving forward.
We were so encouraged by that membership too.
After my husband died, for several months I was able to say with precision how many days had passed. At some point (when?) I realized I’d forgotten to keep track. It would have been easy at that time to calculate, adding the appropriate number. But in one of my smarter moments, I told myself “let it go” and I did. That takes time and who knows when until it arrives? The kinds of priorities you allow tend to change. The first picture of Danny makes me sad; in the second picture his eyes sparkle with life.
It is good to hear from others about how their mourning went. Thanks for sharing, Stephanie. And I feel the same way about those two pictures of Danny. Roughly one year apart. Worlds of difference.