| Commentary and Philosophy Non-Fiction posted November 1, 2020 |
The unglamorous side of sad songs
Seasons in the Sun
by Brad Bennett
We've all heard this sweet, tender song. Although it may seem like it's about suicide, it isn't. It's one of the most beautiful songs ever written, focusing instead on a man with a prolonged illness. It's a call for strength against suicide.
For those facing a leap off a high bridge or a trembling hand clutching a handful of Benadryl, there is no sweet song, no poignant lyrics tugging at their hearts—only the ugly pull of death to escape unbearable anguish.
I was standing near a subway station in Vancouver, Canada, talking to a security guard. We were discussing the placement of safety signage for my assignment as an art director. His cell buzzed, and he answered.
"Yeah. OK, I'll be right there." He clicked off. "Gotta Go." He told me. "We've got a jumper."
"Jumper?" I asked.
"Yeah, we get at least three or four a month."
He quickly left. I stood there, shocked. He had just informed me that somebody down the line had just thrown themself in front of a speeding train. Thoughts of a body being ripped apart and strewn down a hundred feet of tracks flashed across my mind. My God, why? Why would someone choose such a terrible death? Then something else occurred to me. This was the first I'd ever heard of any suicide on our subway line. Why?
The next day, I talked about it with my contact in public relations. Her response was, "It's a sad fact. A constant occurrence not only on the train line but also on local bridges. When we publish suicides, it encourages even more deaths. It's a call to action for other despondent souls."
So there it was. Hundreds of people were so distraught that they might make a snap decision to follow another's rash solution.
But is that so unusual? We can remember when Robin Williams, a man at the pinnacle of fame and admiration, suddenly took his own life. I had a friend I had known for years, a promising artist, who did the same. Death by suicide knows no logic. It's a frightening glimpse into a troubled mind that can disregard all consequences and commit an act of insanity.
I examined my own life and looked back. Had I ever hovered over this hole of oblivion? I thought about it, then I remembered. Yes, a dark shadow had passed over me once, yet I stepped away from it and went on. But what held me, or other survivors, back in this same mindset? Were we not as despairing as them?
Of course, a Clinical Psychiatrist will have a lengthy dissertation on all the deep implications of this. Each of us has our own personal pit of depression unique to our own life tour. The results of that will decide what action we should take.
Suicidal thoughts are the times in our lives when we are most vulnerable. A time when a friend, a helpline, or even a perfect stranger can make a difference. We've all heard stories about a person ready to jump. Then a cab driver stops, comes over, hugs them, and drives them home. Saving their lives.
Of course, others have held an inner demon for so long that they finally end it. Williams did, and my friend did. The final tipping point came, and Death was the only doorway.
I recently posted a poem on my story site about a man walking while crying. I was trying to show the dichotomy we face when we see someone in public who is in extreme stress. It isn't easy in that situation to know what to do. But hopefully, in a suicide situation, the intent is usually clear. They may be threatening to act by standing on a bridge railing. Or they may be offering hints of depression and intent. Either way, they're crying out.
There will be those exceptional times in our lives when we are confronted with someone teetering on the edge of destruction. But, either as a close friend or a passing stranger, we may be their only savior from themselves.
For those facing a leap off a high bridge or a trembling hand clutching a handful of Benadryl, there is no sweet song, no poignant lyrics tugging at their hearts—only the ugly pull of death to escape unbearable anguish.
I was standing near a subway station in Vancouver, Canada, talking to a security guard. We were discussing the placement of safety signage for my assignment as an art director. His cell buzzed, and he answered.
"Yeah. OK, I'll be right there." He clicked off. "Gotta Go." He told me. "We've got a jumper."
"Jumper?" I asked.
"Yeah, we get at least three or four a month."
He quickly left. I stood there, shocked. He had just informed me that somebody down the line had just thrown themself in front of a speeding train. Thoughts of a body being ripped apart and strewn down a hundred feet of tracks flashed across my mind. My God, why? Why would someone choose such a terrible death? Then something else occurred to me. This was the first I'd ever heard of any suicide on our subway line. Why?
The next day, I talked about it with my contact in public relations. Her response was, "It's a sad fact. A constant occurrence not only on the train line but also on local bridges. When we publish suicides, it encourages even more deaths. It's a call to action for other despondent souls."
So there it was. Hundreds of people were so distraught that they might make a snap decision to follow another's rash solution.
But is that so unusual? We can remember when Robin Williams, a man at the pinnacle of fame and admiration, suddenly took his own life. I had a friend I had known for years, a promising artist, who did the same. Death by suicide knows no logic. It's a frightening glimpse into a troubled mind that can disregard all consequences and commit an act of insanity.
I examined my own life and looked back. Had I ever hovered over this hole of oblivion? I thought about it, then I remembered. Yes, a dark shadow had passed over me once, yet I stepped away from it and went on. But what held me, or other survivors, back in this same mindset? Were we not as despairing as them?
Of course, a Clinical Psychiatrist will have a lengthy dissertation on all the deep implications of this. Each of us has our own personal pit of depression unique to our own life tour. The results of that will decide what action we should take.
Suicidal thoughts are the times in our lives when we are most vulnerable. A time when a friend, a helpline, or even a perfect stranger can make a difference. We've all heard stories about a person ready to jump. Then a cab driver stops, comes over, hugs them, and drives them home. Saving their lives.
Of course, others have held an inner demon for so long that they finally end it. Williams did, and my friend did. The final tipping point came, and Death was the only doorway.
I recently posted a poem on my story site about a man walking while crying. I was trying to show the dichotomy we face when we see someone in public who is in extreme stress. It isn't easy in that situation to know what to do. But hopefully, in a suicide situation, the intent is usually clear. They may be threatening to act by standing on a bridge railing. Or they may be offering hints of depression and intent. Either way, they're crying out.
There will be those exceptional times in our lives when we are confronted with someone teetering on the edge of destruction. But, either as a close friend or a passing stranger, we may be their only savior from themselves.
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