The pictures in my house, the bed that is not slept in, the phone calls that I do not receive. I am reminded every day – more than once a day – that I am a suicide survivor.
But suicides that take place in even the dimmest illumination of the media always come with waves of renewed, almost primal, mourning. Mourning for the bereaved family. Mourning for myself. Mourning for all of us because if well known people – with access to every resource the world has to offer - can go through a suicide loss, then any of us can.
I heard Kay Warren speak once; I know Rick Warren offered a prayer at Barack Obama’s first inauguration. I am aware of Saddleback Church. My heart goes out to them as they mourn the death by suicide of their son Matthew; they have done incredible good in the world and I imagine that their good work will continue.
The Warren’s public profile opens them up to a judgment that I have already seen in online commentary: in their case, that Rick had been moving away from a strict interpretation of the Bible in his public ministry. The implication being, of course, that the family deserved this loss or God sent it upon them to bring them in line. The underlying thought being that there is some sort of protection from tragedies like suicide that comes from honoring God in a proscribed manner. Rick has also been criticized for not supporting civil rights for gay people - the implication of course being that Matthew was gay and that Rick found that to be an impediment to unconditionally loving his son.
Such judgments may be publicly directed this weekend toward the Warrens, but they touch us all; it is the possibility of having to endure such hostility that makes silence so appealing. We survivors can barely function after the loss of a loved one – to risk insult and injury is to risk a permanent derailment of any mental health we have managed to cobble together.
It’s a vicious cycle, of course, since survivors are in a unique position to raise awareness and compassion around mental illness and suicide prevention. Our collective silence practically insures that these heart-shattering deaths, which we do not cause and God does not visit upon us, will continue with no regard for creed or race or social standing.
As the Warrens grieve, their loss is both a visceral reminder of Molly’s death and an unmistakable challenge to raise my own quivering voice with those who have endured similar losses and have found the courage to risk telling their story; it is our hope that each story inspires research, medical advances and compassion on behalf of those who suffer from mental illness.
