A Matter Of Life and Death

Sad news today.  I found out a colleague of mine in the industry that I have worked with many times since moving to Tucson committed suicide late January.  I was shocked beyond shock to hear this news.  I instantly teared up and had so many questions.  I was told he closed his business (his company did scenic work and staging for corporate events) in December.  Was that why he did this?  What happened??

I haven't been able to shake the news all day.  I have never known anyone who committed suicide.  This was all new to me.  Backing up a bit, ever since having Ms. Hayden on December 26, I have been a lot more emotional when it comes to mortality.  Just seeing someone "die" on a fictional TV show will make my heart ache.  I don't know if it is left over hormones or the fact that Hayden has literally brought LIFE to me.

When you are young, you don't think about death - you laugh at death...you are immortal.  Then, as you get older and start having little aches and pains or the weight doesn't shed off of you as easily as it used to...or you just feel...old, you start lightly thinking about the far future.  You still feel like you have a long way to go and there is always someone "older" than you.  But then...at least for me...you have a baby.  A beautiful baby.  A new life.  And all of a sudden mortality becomes forefront in your mind.  I WANT to live a long time to watch her grow up.  I don't EVER want to die (although I know it is inevitable).  I want to cherish each day with her, watch her walk for the first time, cheer her on when we take the training wheels off, shed a tear and lose sleep when she drives for the first time, side eye her first boyfriend, help her pimp out her dorm room, take her out celebrating when she hits 21, cry and laugh out loud when she tells me she is marrying that awesome, handsome doctor, be there in the hospital as my Mom was to hold her baby...I want all of those things.  But no one knows what tomorrow brings so you have to live for today...and hope for tomorrow.

With the news of Don (the man I knew who just committed suicide), I have really tried to wrap my head around suicide.  Everyone says it is a selfish way to go.  And it does seem that way, right?  His daughter found him (the source I heard it from wasn't sure if he hung himself or shot himself).  She is an adult and married but, at that moment, did she feel like his five year old baby girl?  Why Daddy?  Why?  Is this how she felt?  I am sure she, as well as the rest of his family, must have questions...questions, guilt, excruciating pain, anger, more pain, more questions...what could we have done?  Maybe if I would have called him at such-and-such a time, maybe if I would have gone there, if only I knew he was so upset, so low.  What could I have done?  How could I have saved him?  And they will be asking these questions for the rest of their lives.  His daughter will relive that moment...for the rest of her life.

Although many say it is a selfish act (and I do agree), I don't think the one doing it looks at it that way.  I have never been inside someone's head who felt that was the only avenue to take.  However, I can only imagine that they aren't thinking about the hurt they will cause their family.  They may be thinking that they are hurting their family more by being around (so far from the truth, I'm sure).  They may be thinking that this is the only way to find peace...maybe in their own intensely "loud" minds. 

I hadn't talked to Don since probably 2008 when I left my last place of employment.  I remember my last conversation with him was about me leaving that place, how crappy they were to me and his response that I was really good at what I did and that we WILL work together again.  And here we are, a year and a half later, I have the same event we last worked on together.  I was going to email him in the next week to talk with him about a design for the staging.  I wanted to work with him again.  He didn't get the business last year.  I was ready to award it to him without a bid.  But now he is gone.  It is so hard for me to comprehend...or understand.

I have experienced depression in my life.  Many times.  I have been treated for depression - both through counseling and through medication.  I always called it my black hole.  At those times, I felt like I had fallen into a muddy, dark, cold hole and couldn't get back out.  And, my friends, there were times that that hole was deep.  So deep I was afraid I would never be able to climb out.  But I NEVER got to the point that I felt like off'ing myself was the way out of that hole.  I guess I always saw the light up at the top...no matter how dim.  I always knew there was a way out - I may need to be guided, I may need pills to grasp onto - but there was always a way out. 

My life has changed dramatically since then.  I am in such a happier place, I have so much to live for and don't want myself or my family to go anywhere!  The mud on my shoes and under my nails is a sure sign of where I have been...that muddy hole - a constant reminder that things were worse at one time.  And a gauge as to how things are so incredibly great now.  I made it.  I made it out of the hole with only soiled shoes.  I only wish others could have made it out.  If I could have just held my hand down there to help pull them out.  To let them know I understand...that I am here to talk...that I am here.  But I never, ever thought that, the hippy, low-key, down-to-earth, "no drama" scenic genius would need my help...my hand.  Where was I?

Thank you Hayden.  You have made this world an even better place.  I have the most wonderful family, friends, husband, step-daughter, pets and now this incredible little girl.  I have EVERYTHING to live for...and I plan to...for as long as nature will let me.   Granted I will continue to cover my gray hair and use any ointment possible to cover the wrinkles that are creeping across my face.  But I will live life fully...every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  For me, for my family and for Hayden.