Suicide

I am of the firm belief that we are all, bullshit detectors. We can hear, see, and intuit, lies. What we do with the lies once we have detected them is fascinating AND telling in regards to our own inner workings and the perspectives we cling to. Making sense of ourselves, others and what we experience in the world is necessary for sanity and to carry on with life. When "things" stop making sense, it is easy to get lost in the fray. Like tiny boats, tethered to land, wanting to pull away from shore and experience the glorious rhythm of wave after wave, we are tied to an unnatural spasmodic subjective reality. This reality is created, implemented, and strangely accepted as truth to be swallowed whole. This morning, I was hit rather hard with the lies we hear, the lies we tell ourselves, the lies we turn into odd truth. I will let you in now, to what is troubling my spirit. Today, in my city, there will be held a celebration of life service for a woman that killed herself. She murdered her own body, stole from it the breath of life. She destroyed what was not hers to take and violated sanctity. This is not noble, it is not kind or good, nor is it "better for her now." I am struck by the word celebrate, as though this is possible given the violent and vile sentiment that suicide dredges up in those who will say a final unfinished and permanent good-bye to the dead. Celebrate is a lie. She did not finish and win a medal. She cannot be told, well done, good and faithful servant. She trusted no one and believed in nothing, evidenced by her belief that death was far more appealing then carrying on, living loving and serving others. She is now in the useless pile of nothingness because what she was sent to earth to complete, she left undone. Celebrate what, I ask? Grief is real, it is not a lie. Grief is like death itself and feels like soul devastation. How do we recover from the death of a loved one, stolen from the earth through sickness or the ravages of age? This type of grief is difficult enough and feels irreconcilable when we are in the throws of suffering such loss. We all die and leave behind those who wish for another day, another memory created, another moment of embrace...suicide though, Dear One, suicide is not a thief in the night. Suicide is a marauding murderer that turns hate filled eyes inward, points its weapon at not a victim but a willing participant in death and there is no turning back once the crime against self has been committed. I am hard pressed to imagine celebration of a life stamped incomplete. The polite lie covers a nasty truth and my heart felt hope is that someone speaks the truth, that suicide is the cruelest violation of life and dignity has been corrupted. Thinking of killing yourself, Dear Reader? I beg of you, do not do such a thing. You are precious, created in the image of God Almighty. He has a plan for you and despite your despair, things can, will and do get better when you trust in Him. Plus, we want you here, we need you here, we are not done with you Dear One...