As I write this at 5:21 a.m. on Friday, June 28, 2024, a person somewhere in your neighborhood, county, city, state, country, and world will die from death by suicide today.
Just a short drive from our home, on the morning of June 24, a woman jumped from the Parham Road bridge into the on coming traffic on I-64.
According to news reports, local police had responded to calls from concerned citizens about a woman on the bridge. Police responded. They attempted a dialogue. She jumped.
The world has a way of closing in on us.
Sometimes it is relentless in its pursuit.
It pushes.
It nudges.
It whispers to weary souls.
It wears a person down.
Darkness is everywhere.
That darkness blocks out light.
That darkness crushes hope.
Life becomes unbearable.
I can’t imagine what this woman was going through.
The same goes for the woman’s family, I can’t imagine.
I can’t imagine how the motorists, police officers, and first responders feel from watching a person end her life.
To be truthful, I’ve seen the impact of death by suicide.
My wife’s oldest sister, a beloved elementary school secretary, the daughter of dear neighbors, the son of another neighbor, the son of a co-worker, and the lives of parents and students in thirty one years of work in our public schools.
Despite time, hearts never forget and heal from those losses.
Even at 71, I still marvel at the sight of a commercial jet airliner flying over our neighborhood as the pilot lines the plane up for its final approach into the Richmond airport.
That big jet is a complicated machine.
Human beings are complicated too.
We are wired like that big plane.
Wires run throughout its frame.
Wires run through our human frame too.
The life of that plane and of human beings is dependent upon all that wiring.
That jet goes through a series of required safety inspections. Trained technicians, sometimes with special equipment scan those wires. They know the smallest fray in a wire can cause a life changing safety problem for the passengers and crew aboard the plane.
For a long, long time, we have known how important mental health is to the wiring of human beings. And while we can x-ray, scan, and MRI our internal wiring, often that scrutiny can’t catch the deeper struggles of the human soul.
We know it doesn’t take much for our human wiring to wear, to fray, to overheat, and meltdown. At that point, its too late to intervene because the dark demon inside our human frames has us locked on automatic pilot for the end of life.
I’m no expert on death by suicide.
But, I sense that individuals who commit to this devastating decision struggled during their lives to fit in. They just couldn’t find their place in life.
Early in life, when playing with blocks, we learn how to properly fit the shapes into the corresponding openings. But as a human being, if I’m an odd-shaped quadrilateral, I might struggle to find my opening, my place in life.
Back on the afternoon of Sunday, June 2, my cousin, Roger Pike, via email announced that his younger brother, George, had passed away.
Part of me believes that George struggled to find his fit in life.
In these losses, often siblings and family members are quick to blame themselves for not being able to help their loved one.
While I understand their guilt, the real truth is that you, me, we, us are tangled in that loss too.
What did I do to help George find his fit?
What did I do to help George battle his demons?
How did I interact with him at family gatherings over the years?
Did I convey to George that I cared?
The answer is no. I could have been better.
A celebration of George’s life was held in Pleasant Garden, North Carolina on the afternoon of Saturday, June 29.
It was June miserable in terms of high temperature and humidity. Even if you were in the shade, with a barely discernible breeze gently rustling tree leaves, you were dripping in sweat.
A large crowd of Clapps, Pikes, and friends had gathered to honor George.
Roger and his pretty companion, Kelly, had opened their home for food and fellowship.
Even in the sweltering heat Roger manned a grill cooking hamburgers and hot dogs. Family and guests provided all the required condiments, side dishes, and desserts.
As the food was just about ready, Roger circled us all up.
He spoke directly from his heart. Roger’s brief, sincere words conveyed his love for his brother, George.
Our cousin, Alice, commented about the photo display put together by George’s sister, Debbie. Alice noted that we all battle our demons, and despite George’s battles the family photos of George always captured his smile.
Then Roger called on a friend to offer a prayer, and the words were perfect.
In 1988, The Traveling Wilburys released their first single “Handle With Care.”
The band consisted of Bob Dylan, George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Roy Orbison, and Tom Petty. The song is about how life batters us.
At the end of the chorus a tough question is asked:
“I’m so tired of being lonely, I still have some love to give,
won’t you show me that you really care?”
When it comes to mental health, I’m overdue in being sensitive to the needs of those I encounter every day. I need to be better in showing my care.
Maybe I would be wise to remember that each person I encounter has somewhere in their wiring a sign hanging that states “handle me with care.”
Author’s note: Remember, the suicide and crisis lifeline, 988, is available for anyone 24/7.
might be baloney 