On Killing Oneself

Kate Spade. Noted handbag and fashion designer. Was widely admired. Married and mother of a pre-teen daughter Frances, but dreaded an impending divorce. Lived in a Park Avenue residence. Had millions.

Committed suicide June 5th.

Anthony Bourdain. Remarkable chef, food lover and connoisseur, raconteur, adventurer, with a pre-teen daughter Ariane. Traveled all over the world, met everyone, filmed stories that began with food but morphed into human interest stories throughout the globe. Was known everywhere. Beat numerous addictions. Going through some “dark days.” Was widely admired. Had millions.

Committed suicide June 8th.

My grandfather Harry, always at odds with family members over jointly owned businesses, finally had a break with reality when he was in the early stages of a new start-up business with his two sons, and hung himself. In his basement. Leaving my grandmother to discover him and cut him down. I was 11 years old. The same age as Ariane Bourdain. I still hear my father shouting up the stairs early that morning as he rushed out of the house to get to my grandparents’ home.

My grandmother never recovered from the shock.

My brother Steven, feeling the strain of a long highway commute to work year after year, hopelessly wishing for a house in the country and a dog (was that so much to ask?), suffered a breakdown and quit his employment some years into his marriage, with two grown children. He took an overdose and nearly died in an emergency room.

He never resumed real employment for the last 15 or so years of his life, being diagnosed as obsessive-compulsive with explosive bouts of anger. In spite of these handicaps, he continued his love affair with classical music, and we shared experiences playing and singing the great compositions. But he never recovered his emotional and psychological balance, and died at his own request when he suffered severe graft v. host disease following a bone marrow transplant (from his twin sister) to cure leukemia. The leukemia went into permanent remission but my brother suffered greatly month after month and finally chose to refuse all nutrition and hydration and simply die to put an end to the pain.

Was this suicide? Perhaps. More likely, it was confronting the severity of his condition and choosing to end the agony.

We’ve all known family or friends who made a decision to exit this life voluntarily for a variety of reasons, and except in the case of irreversible severe illness, we wish we could somehow have made a difference. Leaving suddenly and decisively is the easy way out most of the time; sticking around and battling demons to a draw if not a victory takes courage and determination.

I wish all my readers the strength to do the latter, with help and love from family, friends, and if necessary, strangers on a suicide hot line. Whatever works.

You’ll be grateful in the morning when the sun rises, in the afternoon when the breezes blow, and in the evening when the stars come out. The world won’t give up on you if you don’t give up on it.

Keep giving to whoever you happen to encounter on your journey on this earth. Someone will always give back.