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For the past two years I’ve lost a loved one to suicide inside your month. There – I said it.
It’s been a quiet grief. These have been difficult deaths to process and, not knowing what’s acceptable to say in public, I’ve kept mostly quiet out of respect for those who mourn.
And yet, I am also mourning. My pain is real and it remains. Same too with the unanswered questions which linger, like debris that’s sunk to the bottom of the ocean – still there, but normally out of sight.
Autumn has been unusually warm and charming this year. The golden leaves that glisten skyward in the hot sun. Jupiter hanging out at sundown next to the moon. It’s been hard to reconcile today’s beauty with yesteryear’s yearning for one more chance to show that it’s worth waiting for brighter days. This October, a new chance presented itself.
My heart began to pound when I missed a call from my friend, a single male in his 30s. His profile resembling that of the ones I’ve lost to suicide. In haste, I dropped everything to call him back. Once the initial catch-up chit chat tapered, I expressed my concern and asked: “How are you doing?”
He said he feels fine for several weeks. Then for a week he can barely drag himself out of bed. The depression. The anxiety. This time of year is worse than the dead of winter, at least then he can skate and ski. The warmth and light of summer is exchanged for cooler, darker, shorter days. These destabilizing changes upset familiar routines. Autumn is the toughest time of year for him.
I felt sincere gratitude that he put words to his pain. I was so thankful that he reached out. Because, if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known how he was feeling and I wouldn’t have known he needed support. Only God saves, however, I can be a source of support pointing toward the light.
I want him to know what I wanted my cousin and friend to know, and what I want you to know too: You are loved. You are wanted. You are an irreplaceable gift. The world needs you. Your pain is not a burden. It unlocks compassion in this oftentimes cruel world. You are responsible for your wellness, but I want to be present to you. You are not alone. This too will pass. I’ll stand alongside you until it does. I love you. And God loves you more.
October, my eyes used to be unaware of your underbelly. Until the shock. The agony. The confusion. The guilt. The anger. The reflection. The compassion. The remembrance. The magnitude of these feelings that were once foreign but have now become familiar. Lost innocence. No turning back. This is what it means to be human in relationship with other humans. Love has shattered my heart.
Yet, my faith grounds me, especially in times of violence, oppression, suffering, loss and grief. I remain firm in hope – a supernatural hope rooted in mercy and forgiveness.
Catholic Pastoral Centre Staff and Guest Writers