“He was 17 years old. He was our friend and he was our little baby even though he’s 17.”
“When she died she was only 15.”
“Her name’s Erin, and she was 19.”
“He can’t live with what he’ve done, so he took his own life.”
It struck me hearing those lines from families and friends who have lost a son, a daughter and a friend. Every 18 minutes, someone dies from suicide in the U.S.
Microsoft® Encarta® defines suicide:
1. killing yourself: the act of deliberately killing yourself
2. somebody who commits suicide: somebody who intentionally kills himself or herself
3. doing something against own best interests: the act of doing something that seems contrary to your own best interests and seems likely to lead to a disaster such as financial ruin or loss of position or reputation
4· Adopting a policy like that would be political suicide.
Life is such a wonderful gift – too precious to waste on useless worries. Although often times I do understand what those who committed suicide feel – I am a survivor myself, too.
“He committed suicide. He shot himself in the head.”
“He was my boyfriend. By the suicide, he was 26 years old.”
“I hope I got rid of it if I’ve seen it coming.”
“I think I know he’s listening. And if he is, I just want him to know I love him.”
“It’s not the right order of things.”
“You’re not supposed to bear your children; they’re supposed to bear you.”
“The last thing he said to me was, have a fun time with grandma Mom and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“And I’ll be waiting for Monday the rest of my life.”
I cannot fathom the hurt they feel but I do emphatize.
“I always wonder what’d be like if my father was still alive.”
“Hang on ‘cause everybody goes through it.”
“I tried to hurt myself but I’m glad I’m still here.”
“There’s always a way out, always.”
“I can’t imagine me not being here now.”
“It’s okay to get help. You’re gonna miss out on so much.”