The Club No One Wants to Join

I drafted this post dozens of times in my mind as I went for my morning run. I thought about it as I showered in the mornings. I debated about whether to write it at all. Obviously, I wrote it and put it here in my blog. The debates and drafts are finished. Here is the story I wasn’t sure I would ever reveal so publicly:

Twenty-one years ago today, April 12, 1989, my father committed suicide. He went out on his boat in the middle of the San Francisco Bay, jumped off the side, and was gone forever.

That’s the basics, but like any story there are details. Also, like any story there are different versions. This is my version and how I remember it. My Mom and my sister have their own stories of what happened and I am not writing this to hurt them or bring out anything they don’t want others to know. I finally decided to publish this because I hope it can prevent others from becoming members of the club no one wants to join: Survivors of Suicide.

Here is my story: I got the call from my sister at 3:00 AM. She told me Dad’s boat had been found and he wasn’t on it. She said the Coast Guard was looking for him and I should come home. I was away at college and home was a four hour drive away. I hung up the phone and I just knew what had happened. I called her back and asked for the details. She didn’t want to tell me they had found a note from him on board. I wouldn’t let up; I wanted the truth. Finally she told me , “He left a note”. That was all she needed to say. I knew the rest. I hung up and started screaming. I woke my roommate and my friends in the apartment across the hall.

I don’t remember much about that night after that. My friend drove me home. We stopped for coffee once and I cried the entire way. I knew my life would never be the same. I knew I would never see my father again. I knew I hadn’t saved him. I felt terrified and angry and numb. The worst part was in some infinitely small part of myself I knew this was going to happen. I just didn’t know when or how. In the greater part of myself I had been hoping I was wrong.

He gave me clues to how he would leave us. I remember him saying, “I didn’t think I’d live to see forty. Now I don’t think I’ll live to see fifty.”

I asked him why, “What makes you say that?”

“I just know,” he answered. Ever have a conversation like that with your dad? I hope not. It was creepy, like foreshadowing in a book. But in life, if you are really bothered by what you fear may happen in the story, you can’t skip ahead a few chapters. You just have to wait. My sister tried to talk to me about how worried she was about Dad. I ignored it. I was away at college and my view of my family was skewed from miles away. I conveniently worked to stay ignorant and stubbornly avoided talking about it with her. This tactic backfired in the worst way possible.

My Dad was an alcoholic. He had a lot of demons and skeletons in his closet. He battled depression, perhaps even bouts of mania, and alcohol was his self-medication. His father abused him physically and emotionally when he was growing up. My Dad told me his father used to kick him down the stairs and tell him he wouldn’t ever amount to anything. You don’t need a degree in psychology to know that will do damage. My Dad’s temper caused my Mom, my sister and I to walk on eggshells when he was around. My Mom and Dad fought every night at dinner for years because he would pick a fight with her. When he died, he had run our family into debt. He couldn’t see a way out. He had mortgaged our house to keep his business afloat and was desperate. I’m sure he felt he had failed.

But I loved him. He was charismatic. He had a wicked-fast sense of humor and had a big, booming, infectious laugh. He could tell a story that would captivate an entire room and was an incredible dancer. He was my greatest cheer-leader. Everything I accomplished made him incessantly proud. No matter what he had going on in his life, he would shelve it and gush over what I had done. I can still hear, “Well, that’s just fantastic, Eileen!” 

I look just like he did. I can still imitate him. I often heard “you’re just like your father” as I grew up. It took me years of therapy to understand that most of the times when people said this they meant it in an admiring way. I was his favorite. This was no secret. My sister is my Mom’s. That’s just how it was in our family. Maybe it disturbs my Mom to look at me and see my father looking back at her. It’s not easy moving into adulthood when the person you are most akin to kills himself. This has been beyond confusing to me at times. He used to tell me to work to be different from who I was. To stop being so much like him. Ouch. And I also see his point.

These similarities and his advice to change, made the post-partum depression I had after my third son was born a frightening experience. I took anti-depressants to regain my stability. Admitting I was depressed was one of the scariest things I had to do. All the times I heard “you’re just like your father” became condemnations instead of praise. I was petrified at what this meant, but I couldn’t live with the alternative: me being my depressed self. I took medication and I felt better. It made me wonder what could have happened if my Dad had discovered “better living through chemistry”, as my friend calls it. It would not have erased all the debt, and he still would have had a lot of work to do, but it may have saved his life. Always the “what ifs”….

I battle with mild depression at times and this scares me to my core. I saw what severe depression did to my father. When I am depressed I can see how much my Dad must have been hurting, how irrational his perspective became, how defeated he must have felt. I understand his desperate attempts to “keep it together” and the constant “if only” conversations he must have had with himself. When I am depressed the “if onlys” are endless and the cycle is debilitating, but I’m lucky. I have found a workable solution with herbs, exercise, and meditation and it is relatively easy to manage. Others who battle with severe depression have to work hard to find the right medications for their condition and the side affects may be unpleasant. I admire people who work to find a solution to their chemical imbalance. It is difficult, but they are worth the effort.

We know more every day about the brain, the chemical systems in our bodies, and how this can affect our mood. Cancer patients receive chemotherapy. Diabetics inject insilin. People with heart problems take blood thinners. Others need medication for a chemical imbalance. Not because they can’t “keep it together” or “tough it out”. They need it because their bodies don’t process brain chemistry correctly. Period. No one chooses this situation. It chooses you, either from genetics, as a reaction to events in your life, or a combination of both. Do you have pre-conceived, negative ideas about people who use medications to regulate their depression? Are you avoiding it for yourself? Get educated and get over it. The negativity about this medical issue is lessening, but there is still room for more understanding.

I wrote this and finally hit the publish button because I hope my story can help. If you are someone who is debating suicide stop reading this immediately and pick up the phone. Find someone who will tell you that you matter, because you do. If you think you don’t matter to someone, you are wrong. Seek the medical attention you deserve. Medication can help. If you are using suicide to seek revenge, think of the people who won’t understand your vengeance, the ones who will only miss the you-shaped hole you will leave on our planet. My Dad never picked up the phone. He never asked for help. He never got the chance to hear others tell him that he mattered, and he mattered to a lot of people. There was standing room only at his funeral. (I told you he was charismatic.) He didn’t reach out to anyone, and those who were there to pay their final respects would have been willing to help.

I wish someone could have helped him.

I wish he didn’t try to self-medicate.

I wish he could have danced with me at my wedding.

I wish my sons could have met him.

I wish he could see all I have accomplished in the last twenty-one years.

I wish I didn’t know what it was like to be a survivor of suicide.

More than anything, I wish he had sought help for his problem and gotten medical and psychological attention.

It’s the club no one wants to join. You only become a member because someone else signed you up. Don’t sign up the people who love you to be members of this club. I have no formal training in how to prevent suicide, but others do. Find them now to get the help you need. Please. Your life may be a mess, but no mess is worth stopping your life entirely. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, or it is a permanent solution to an on-going problem, but it is not a good solution. There are other answers.

If you have survived a suicide, I am so sorry for your loss. I don’t know how you feel, or the details of your story, but I know how much suicide ripped me apart. I know how hard I work every day to be positive, pay it forward, be kind, help, and leave the darkness I experienced behind. I do all these things to honor my father and move away from the deep sadness I felt for years after he died. I wrote endlessly in journals. I have run miles and pounded my anger and hurt into the ground under my feet. I have cried more over losing my Dad than I have cried over anything in my life, but I will tell you this: the pain changes.

Suicide leaves behind a devastating hurt. The grieving process is different than a death from natural causes. In states it is a crime. In religions it is a sin. It is an act you commit. You don’t just do suicide, you commit it. The recovery is horrid. If you recently lost someone I can tell you after twenty-one years I feel differently about his death now. When it first happened, I just kept getting out of bed in the morning and going to bed at night. Most importantly, I had people in my life who never, never, never, never let me give up having faith that I would find a reason to be happy again. People who are not a part of my life anymore, but were crucial at the time: Megan, Chris, Barry, Lois and countless others. I knew it would take work, but I eventually stopped feeling as guilty, as angry, as mutilated by his death. You are worth that work. Keep going. Find others who can help. Talk to people. Read books that help. Keep getting up in the morning and going to bed at night. The weeks, months, and years will accumulate and your grief will change. At least it changed for me.

This anniversary is a benchmark for my life. Up until now, I lived most of my life with a father. From now on, I will have lived most of my life without one. He passed away just before I turned twenty-one. This year my grief span turns twent-one. The irony of my grief being old enough to go out and get a gin martini-up (his favorite drink) isn’t lost on me. Alcohol played a huge part in my Dad’s unhealthy life. As I look back on the last twenty-one years I see everything my Dad missed and I see how much I have missed him.

I did not write this for pity, attention, drama, or to glorify suicide. I only wrote this to try to help someone who may be hurting on either side of a suicide -the sides of someone debating it, or recovering from a loss due to it. Seek help for your hurt. Your feelings are normal, but they can be changed and managed and the despair can be lessened. Don’t be ashamed of how you are feeling or what someone else has done. It is only a shame if you choose not to do anything to change it. Blessings to you and yours, and your precious life.

Finally, this can only help others if shared. Please pass this along to anyone who could benefit from this story. I truly appreciate your support and efforts.

Comments (34)

  1. Julia

    My heart aches for all those who have lost someone to suicide. It really does have a stigma attached to it. I lost my mom at the age of 22 and was suddly cast into the role of caregiver for my then 8 year old brother. It was devistating. (((((HUGS))))) to you as you pass this milestone.

    Reply
  2. Lolita

    You’re so brave and giving to share your story to help others — big hugs! xoxo

    Reply
  3. Jmac

    Thank you for sharing. Stay strong.

    Reply
  4. BusyDad

    Eileen, I’m very sorry to hear about the pain this has caused you. But I will tell you this: you ARE honoring him. And everything you have done since that day is something I’m sure your dad would be very proud of. Thanks for this.

    Reply
  5. tracey

    So sorry for your loss and for all of the hurt and pain your entire family has gone through…

    Reply
  6. Heather

    I am so sorry you had to go through this, but I appreciate you sharing. I lost my ex to suicide and it was a painful and horrifying time in my life. Speaking out about it raises awareness though, which will hopefully save someone’s husband, father, brother, and son.

    Hugs,
    Heather

    Reply
  7. Piper of Love

    I wish I could reach through this computer and give you a great big hug!

    I can’t imagine how hard this must have been to write, but I’m really glad you did. Your bravery in honesty and sharing your own truth is something that will, no doubt, benefit everyone who reads this.

    You are a such beautiful person, Eileen. I’m sure your father is beaming with pride right now <3

    Thanks for sharing this story. xoxo

    Reply
  8. carol allison

    i had no idea we were members of the same club. with your writing, you have captured so many of the feelings i’ve had through the years – anger, loss, why wasn’t i enough to make her want to live, regret then, finally, the understanding it was not about me……always a hole in my heart, but as the years pass, stronger and more positive memories. thank you for sharing.

    Reply
  9. Daniel

    Thank you for sharing this, Eileen. I struggle every day with the suicide of a childhood friend. Like BusyDad said, by sharing your story and trying to help others, you are definitely honoring him.

    Reply
  10. Laura

    Thank you so, so much for sharing your story. I can see it helping a lot of people. I’m so sorry for your loss – I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.

    Reply
  11. Pingback: Tweets that mention writes beautifully about 'the club no one wants to belong to." (Sadly, I am a member, too) -- Topsy.com

  12. Mammy P - Nicola Proctor

    Eileen – you are so, so brave for writing this. This is the first time I’ve visited your website; I followed a link on Twitter to find it. I was the same age as you were when I lost my younger brother to suicide… I can’t stress enough how right you are in all you say, in your message to anyone who might be contemplating it.

    I wrote a tribute to my brother here http://mammyp.blogspot.com/2009/09/remembering-jonathan-hoc-quoque.html but I wish I could have been brave enough to actually address what he did, rather than skirt around it. I say things like ‘when we lost him’ … I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud.

    Thank you so much for writing what I wish I were brave enough to say.

    Reply
  13. maggie, dammit

    Depression, alcoholism and abuse decimate so many lives, through so many generations. I’m so sorry for your loss, and so grateful for your willingness to talk about it. Thank you.

    Reply
  14. A new reader

    found this through twitter. i hope you reach even ONE person with this. it’s an important, difficult story to tell.

    Reply
  15. A Fellow Survivor

    I to belong to the club. And have suffered with depression on and off ever since. Also resulting in me attempting a couple of times myself. It was only the last time with my current situation that I finally understood why Dad did it. Somehow 22 years after his death, I found myself in similar situation. And made the same choice he did. Luckily I survived.
    Thanks for sharing.

    Reply
  16. jayedee

    i’m terribly sorry for your loss and your pain. i lost my beautiful brilliant tortured son to suicide 5 years ago. thank you for being brave enough to share your story.

    Reply
  17. Pingback: I’m In The Club No One Wants to Join | deguia.net

  18. the messy me

    Thank you for sharing your story, for voicing what so many are unable to: Suicide. After all these years, it still haunts so many and yet we still don’t dare to publicly speak out about it. Every time I see the word “suddenly” in an obituary, I think about that family and the weight of grief they must feel. I wait for the day when that same family could write “fought bravely against depression” as one does for cancer. I am so sorry this happened to you.

    Reply
  19. Liz

    Thank you so much for being so brave to share this. My oldest brother committed suicide a month before my wedding. I always look at my sons and know they will never know him, and he will never know them. I am angry for all the holes he left. This is not something that is easy to talk about – so often I want to write about it publicly as well – it is something so filled with shame that shouldn’t be. But I fear the affect of my real feelings on my parents…

    You know…

    Thanks again for sharing…and I am so sorry for your loss

    Liz

    Reply
  20. Chris

    I too am a survivor or suicide- my sisters. It was 13 years ago and it still hits me every day. For years I tried to “tough it out” through my own bouts of depression because I was so afraid that needing help meant that I was bound to follow that same road. I’m seeking help now but it’s still hard. Thank you so much for your post and I wish you some peace in your survivorship.

    Reply
  21. Mary

    I have just put down four crumpled Kleenex and have momentarily gained composure to write a comment. First of all, I am so sorry for your loss. And secondly, thank you so much for writing about your experience with such eloquence and truth. I lost my dad 9 years ago but it was to cancer. I am actually compiling stories for a book about women who have lost their dads. I can relate to this post on so many levels because my dad was an alcoholic for years, had a temper and also battled depression towards the end. I am so much like him, in fact, I am him. I see it in things I say to my own kids or my husband and also how I react in certain situations and it scares me. I battle demons and I am thankful to you for writing this. Truly thankful.

    Reply
  22. debbie pelletier

    If more people would be willing to share their stories and life experiences like you have, we would all feel a little better about ourselves, as I don’t think that there’s one person out there that isn’t carrying around something that bothers them. My father suffered from depression too, for over 40 years, and I know the impact that it takes on every family member. And you’re right, we need to do what we need to do to feel better, and if that means medication, then we take it, and stop worrying about what other people think because I bet they’re wishing that their problem was as easily solved.

    Thank you for sharing your story and my heart goes out to you for all that you’ve had to endure, but also for the knowledge you can share with others; maybe it will make their experience a little easier. Be proud of yourself, for what you’ve passed through!!! I am.

    Reply
  23. Sista Sledge

    Hello all…Eileen’s sister here! My darling Eileen, I am so proud of you for publicaly telling this story and doing it so eloquently, truthfully, and with so much raw emotion. Making that phone call to you on that dreaded morning was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I admire your strength and courage to tell this story. Hopefully you will be able to help someone else in the process. Your blog is so appropriatly titled. It truly is the club that no one wants to join, but your strength and honesty may prevent someone else and their famalies from becomming a member. I love you and am so proud of you…today and always! You rock sista friend!!!

    Reply
  24. Lori

    Wow….For you to open your heart and share such personal moments with us Eileen makes me love you even more. I can’t even imagine dealing with that but to see how wonderfully happy you are makes me see what kind of person you are. ((hugs)) So proud to know you and more proud that despite the experience, you have chosen strength and embracing life…and living.

    Reply
  25. Sugar Jones

    Thank you for this precious offering. Peace to you.

    Reply
  26. denise

    Found your through a retweet. So powerful. So truthful. So raw. I always admire someone who tells the darker side with honesty and grace. You did that with this post. Thank you and I’m sure your courage will help others.

    Reply
  27. Pingback: A Blog of Thanks « CalandroClan.com

  28. Lisa C

    Eileen,

    You are one of the strongest people I know and I admire you tremendously for sharing your story in such a public way in an effort to help others who might be hurting. I’m so sorry for the pain you have felt for the last 21 years. Please know that you have brought immeasurable joy to me and I’m so happy to have you as a sister-in-law.

    Love you,
    Lisa

    Reply
  29. Pingback: I Don’t Have Answers, I Just Know How It Feels | Motherhood Unadorned

  30. Pingback: I’m Back, and I’ve Got Something To Say (Shocker, I know.) | CalandroClan.com

  31. Pingback: A Motherless Mother

  32. Pingback: Making Waves at Fenway Park | CalandroClan.com

  33. Pingback: Support the Stop Suicide Auction -You and Cristi Motto Comes Can Make a Difference | CalandroClan.com

  34. Pingback: I Don’t Have Answers, I Just Know How It Feels - Motherhood Unadorned

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>