It was Friday, February 5th, 2016. I was at my office getting ready to see my last client for the day. I checked my phone, as I normally do in between sessions, and I saw a missed called from my dad. My parents are always calling me durinyg the day, so I brushed it off thinking I'd call him back so I sent him a quick text reminding him that I was at work and that I'd call him later... but before I could send it, he called me again. Something about it made me feel anxious, I thought something might be wrong... so I picked up the phone.
"Hello?" I answered. "Where are you?" my dad said. I knew something was wrong by his voice. "Something has happened and we need to talk," he said. "What happened? Is everything okay?" I panicked. "It's your cousin, Harris."
My first memory of you is in a mall. You were such a cute toddler with blonde hair and blue eyes, but you were screaming and crying so loud. I remember thinking, "Babies are loud." Then Aunt Lee, your mom, fed you cheerios and you stopped crying. I thought, "who would want cheerios right now?" Our car had cheerios everywhere in it that day.
"Harris killed himself this morning."
I was 8 and you were 4. I was so excited that you, Aunt Lee, and Uncle Cliff were coming in town to stay with us in Atlanta. I was always the youngest out of all the cousins and my siblings, so when you came into the world you seemed like a real life baby doll to me. I didn’t care that I had to give up my room, and I didn’t mind that you stole my stuffed animal and carried it around all weekend like it was your own. That was the first of many trips and weekends we would spend together. You were an only child and we were the only cousins on our side of the family. When we came to visit it was like we were all siblings.
"Is he dead?" I gasped over the phone as I started to cry. I needed to hear it. "Yes, he's dead."
At that moment I'm not sure whether my body went numb or whether I was feeling so much that my brain couldn't process it. My arms were tingling, my ears were ringing, and my heart was pounding so fast that I thought it could leap out of my chest. It seemed like I was inside of a tunnel.
My brother is 8 years older than you, but you thought he was the coolest thing since sliced bread. You wanted him to play with ALL of your toys. He was your favorite person. Then you went through a stage where you were incredibly shy and you would hide in places around your house and peek out at us and then run away. I remember you looking at us through your bedroom window and ducking when we made eye contact. Your room always looked like something exploded in it. That never changed even as you got older. You had more toys and crap than a day care.
I had to call my office to tell them I was leaving and tell them to cancel my client...that my cousin had killed himself. Something we hear all to often as a counseling center. Saying it out loud for the first time was horribly painful. "My cousin killed himself, I can't breathe, I have to leave the office."
Every time I saw you, you got a little bit taller. Eventually you were 6 feet tall and 200 pounds, and you were a football king. I remember coming to watch you play at MBA with my dad. You started and you were amazing. A few years later it came time for you to graduate from high school, and we watched you walk across that lawn in your suit and tie. It rained that day, but we were so proud. I was so proud of you.
That summer you took a trip to Argentina and you started dating a girl for the first time. It was then that I actually realized you had grown up and were finding your own way. We gave you so much crap for finally having a girlfriend. You hated it.Then you headed off to Tulane. You were so smart and we were
so excited for you. You pledged SAE and followed in my dad’s and our
grandfather’s footsteps. We stayed in touch but we were in different worlds.
You were young and developing an identity and trying to get comfortable in your
own skin.
The days following your death are not happy, but they will stick in my mind for the rest of my life. Driving to Nashville and watching our family fall apart and trying to pick up the pieces you left behind was the most painful thing I have ever felt. Watching people pour into a giant church to celebrate your life that you let go. Being at the house where we celebrated so many holidays, now to mourn your loss. Looking around the room and realizing that you would never be there again; that once again I am the youngest cousin.
Looking back I am struck with guilt. What could I have done if I had known? Every day teens walk into my office and I listen to them share their deepest, sometimes darkest, feelings and thoughts. I'm clinically trained to intervene when people are thinking of killing themselves, I'm not perfect, but I know how to step in. I know how to ask those difficult questions. And I didn't do that for you; I didn't know.
And so this is my journey...helping to rebuild our family that will always grieve your absence. Working to fill a void that can never quite be filled. Strengthening my heart so that your memory feels safe coming out of my mouth so that I can share you with the world.
I've never been afraid to sit with my clients in their darkest moments. I am still not afraid. It's an honor to sit with someone in their darkness and help uncover and strengthen the hope that is still left. Helping someone brighten the light until it's no longer dark and they can see around them.
Many people will tell me my work is hard, they may say it is heavy and sad... all of this is true yet still they have misunderstood my purpose in working with people contemplating suicide. When it is dark it can be hard to see the switch that turns on the light. I just help people find it.
A few weeks ago, I spoke of you. I shared your life, your struggle, and your death with people whom I did not know and some who I did. I asked them to help me to help others, in your honor, so they may have a better life. I did not cry; instead I smiled. Your memory has purpose and it will foster hope in your absence.
**If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline number 1-800-273-8255, the Georgia Crisis and Access Line 1-800-715-4225, or make an appointment with a local professional who can help!**
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