Every morning as I head to work, I listen to KPND out of Sandpoint, Idaho. It has the mix of classic and alternative rock that I enjoy listening to. At any rate this morning DJ, throws out a blurb of an artist’s interview and this one this morning caught my ear.
Apparently, James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain,” dealt with suicide. I did not know that. All this time I thought it was a breakup song like Gordan Lightfoot’s “If You Could Read My Mind,” or Joan Baez’ “Diamonds and Rust.”
I know from personal experience about suicide. I think all of us have experienced it at one point or another, either from a relative, a friend, or an acquaintance. In my case it was an acquaintance, a close friend of my mother’s son shot himself in the head with a .22 rifle when he was sixteen in front of the Richland Police station. I was working for or was recently laid off for a security outfit out of Hanford where we were making the world safe from Soviet aggression through mutually assured deterrence, or destruction.
I remembered how hollow it all seemed as I was asked to bring folding chairs from the Elks Lodge to his mother’s house. I felt helpless because what can you say to the mother at a time like this? I saw the anguish, guilt stricken hurt in her own eyes. Me saying “Sorry for your loss,” rang insincere to me. I hardly knew him. We met once ten years prior, and I just never got a positive impression of him, considering I was fourteen and he was six.
Years later, I was working at a convenience store when a group of men came in. I immediately recognized them from my old Boy Scout troop that I was a part of. I asked them what was up, and the vocal one told me one of the former scouts had died and they just came back from his funeral.
At this time, I do not recall his name. It does not matter because the fact that he died was traumatic and shocking enough, but when I asked what he passed away from, the answer was, “I guess he just didn’t want to live anymore.” After they left, I concluded that he must have committed suicide.
I know people who become depressed and despondent to the pressures of living a life that to them appears hopelessly lost. I wish there were a positive message, but it is not that simple. Our brains are all wired differently. We all see things through a different filtered lens. According to the interview Suzanne was being controlled most ruthlessly by her parents, even going as far as having her committed. Rather than trying to get her a proper professional counselor, they apparently gave up on her.
Used to be there was this 1-800 number that people who were suffering could call and chat without consequences. Now it has become simplified, and one only needs to call 988 if they feel this over whelming urge to end their life as Hamlet contemplated rather than endure anymore pain and heartache.
Naomi Judd killed herself rather than continue to fight the cancer that was slowly killing her. It is not the morally right thing to do, yet as we all are aware, sometimes the quick and easy way seems more soothing than a slow and painful death that is inevitable and just as painful to watch.
My loyal readers, if you ever have this deep despair that your life is no longer worth living and that you would be better off dead, call 988 and talk to that person on the other end. They may not have the answers you are looking for, but maybe there is a path forward and one more day of living.
Jerry Schellhammer 