Stay For The Picnic: the Suicide of a friend.

 Saturday, November 18th 2017

Fuckity shit icecream. A young man who I was getting to know, support and care about a great deal died on Thursday morning. Our mothers used to work together many years ago and had reconnected in recent months. We were all going to have a picnic on the beach this weekend. I’d texted him about it on Wednesday. He said he that it sounded good.

A few weeks ago when his mum was away for a short period of time, she asked if I could check in on him. In addition to depression he was recovering from an operation on his foot for arthritis and was housebound. I checked in for two or three hours on four different days, and it was intense, funny, full of music, poetry, ideas and plans. He was writing rap songs as a way to express his depression, frustration, anger and sadness. We sat down and worked on his writing on the first of these few precious days and what I thought was half an hour was two hours. That’s how it went when I was with him - we were experts at making time dissolve. He felt already known to my spirit and I told him that. I did not hold back my heart, my care, my creative soul. 

I shared an idea with him that I’d read recently – ‘Afformations’ by Noah St John. A way of turning a negative, self-defeating statement or question into a positive one. For example, I might keep thinking “I’m such a loser” and then turn it into “why did I find a way to feel so good about my life?”.

He couldn’t keep hold of that good question.

After the week where I’d spent time with him, I explained that it would be about two weeks before we could catch up again properly, but that we would do all these things. Go and see live music. Sing karaoke in a bar. Swim in the sea. Paint rocks. Find out all the different names of the clouds. Record songs together and work on his writing. He was looking forward to paddle boarding. I told him he looked like a natural athlete, that maybe he could get into swimming since his leg was so sore. I had a silly little book about ‘Earth Angels’ (find out which one you are!) and we both fell into the category which was basically ‘you don’t fit into one category’. There were physical descriptions of ‘Earth Angels’ and one of them said “has a beautiful face”. He has. He had. He had a beautiful face and I told him that. Such big eyes and perfect features.

He didn’t know it was my birthday on Thursday. I hadn’t mentioned that this was one of the reasons I thought a picnic on the beach would be cool this weekend. He sent me a text that morning, and I sent a couple back. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

You are not alone in your suffering. Please stay for the picnic. Please.

If you know someone who is going through this kind of loss, do not judge the person who committed suicide. Do not say to the people who are grieving  “it’s so selfish”, because that doesn’t give any relief at all. It is an incredibly conflicting death and we are swimming in guilt. When someone says it was selfish, it feels like another blow. Yes, maybe it is selfish, but in the mind of that suffering person it seemed to make sense and may have even seemed to be the most loving thing to do. I don’t want to put him down for what he’s done. I don’t want to justify it to anyone.

Please, please stay for the picnic. The dog will dig holes. We will sing at the waves, we will swim and laugh and be like children.

His last text seems an obvious cry for help now, but on the day I thought it was just a low mood being expressed. And I’m going through all the usual shit: I wish, I could have, I should have, I might have, If only, why didn’t I? He had been very unwell most of his life. This was not a short term depression. It was a serious, on-going illness. That he lived to be 33 years old is possibly a miracle, and I am lucky to have met him.

Today mum and I are going to visit his mum. I keep talking to him, to his spirit. He says he’s really sorry he did it on my birthday, he didn’t know, that he ‘wasn’t thinking too clearly’. He said he’ll send messages in clouds, in funny birds and ‘weird shit that will make you laugh’. He’s in a good place. He says he’ll stay there awhile before coming back for another life because he needs a rest.

I don’t care if I’m making it up. I will take what I get and I will turn this into something that is filled with love, the sea, dogs, and every kind of beautiful angel-shaped cloud. I saw two angel profiles in the clouds on my birthday and I remember thinking “I’ve never seen clouds with such clear and lovely profiles”. It’s not that I believe in literal winged messengers, but I know there is something. Something good.

If you are in the dark land, please, step out in some way. If someone says ‘let’s go on a picnic’ then hold on for that picnic. Hold on. Find one good thing. Ask one good question. You are not alone; we suffer too. We are your tribe of non-categorized Earth Angel, limping, beautiful and laughing.

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