Face Reality

Saturday I went to my first memorial service for a victim of suicide. I haven't know the diceased for long - only during the last few painful months of her life. The service showed me the OTHER side - the woman who, when not under the burden of depression, squeezed every moment out of life and appreciated the immense beauty of the world around her. It was so good to get exposure to that dimension of her existence. I came away knowing that, despite the fear and horror and anger she felt at the time of her death, she lived a full life that included many times of great joy.

One moment in the service pissed me off to no end. During the "come up and say a few thoughts if you would like" part, some guy tried to convince us that her death was an accident. What about this makes you think accident?!?:

At 2 in the morning, she drove her wheelchair 5 miles from her residence to train tracks and put the chair in high gear as a train was approaching.

Face it - depression is a dreadfully dark and painful disease that, in this case, led to a dreadfully horrific end. Don't dishoner her by indicating that she didn't do it to herself. In the end, she finally took control of this thing that had control of her for so long.

I am sad and angry and hurt and horrified and concerned about the driver of that train and the family she left behind. The scene plays out over and over in my mind - and I wonder about the look on her face, the last things that went through her mind, the temperature in the air at the time of the incident, etc, etc. But when I cease asking questions and wondering why, I find some solace in the fact that she no longer feels the endless hurt and anxiety about having to get through every minute of her exhausting, dreadful, scarey, horrifyingly difficult, time-ticks-by-so-slowly-and-painfully day. She ended that struggle.

And she touched my life.