Grief, One Year Removed

July 8 marks the first anniversary of my father-in-law’s death. I still feel sick when I think back to the moment when we found out that Les had committed suicide. I could easily tell you every detail of the following 24 hours. They were some of the darkest hours of my life.

I have blogged extensively about Les’s death and its ongoing consequences for me and for many people who I love. Over the past week or so, I have written and rewritten this “anniversary” blog many times. It has been a challenge wrapping words around my thoughts. Where do I begin? Les was 73 years of age. He was a devoted husband. He was the father of four sons and the grandfather of eleven grandchildren. He was broken, and he chose July 8, 2014 (his fifty-third wedding anniversary), as his last day on earth.

Les and my daughter, on July 7, 2014.
This image still haunts me. What
was he thinking at that time?

Over the course of this year since his death, I think that it is fair to say that I have often been quite angry with Les. His death hurt a lot of people I love, and from a certain perspective, Les hurt those people intentionally. His wife has had to deal with some incredibly gut-wrenching questions and tremendously difficult decisions in the aftermath of Les’s actions. The rest of his family and his friends have, too, but to a lesser degree. He was someone I trusted, someone I loved, someone I respected – and he chose to end the precious gift of his life. A few years before his death, Les started talking about how he didn’t want to be old, how he had never wanted to make it to 70 years old. His attitude didn’t make sense to me, and just as often as I heard him say that, I tried to talk him out of feeling that way. Obviously, that didn’t work. I know in my head that people cannot be talked out of depression, but my perspective was so different from his. It was painful for me to hear him talking like that, and I desperately wanted him to have just a moment of peace and joy, seeing the world the way I do. He simply could not do that. We who loved him dearly could speculate for years and never know precisely what drove Les to his act of desperation, and he did not leave a note to fill in any blanks. We can, however, be fairly certain of a few factors that contributed to his decision.

First of all, Les was in pain every day. He had chronic back pain and had taken a prescription medication for it for a short time, a year earlier. He felt that this medication had caused all sorts of long-term side effects. He was mad that doctors wouldn’t agree with him or tell him how to remedy what he was sure that drug had done to him. He still hurt, and this situation only fed his intense mistrust of doctors. As far as he was concerned, doctors just wanted his money and had no regard for his (or anyone’s) personal well-being.

This cane reminds me of his pain.

Second, his wife was in the middle of a huge medical crisis. She had a cardiac arrest and almost died. She had been in the hospital 45 miles from their home for two weeks. Every day he made the drive over and every night he made the drive back home again. He steadfastly refused any offers of help, either in making the drive or in staying overnight. Every day he spent many hours in a place he was uncomfortable, dealing with people he did not trust. Every day he watched his wife recover, but he wondered how much health and ability she would regain. He wondered if he could take care of her, and I believe he wondered if he had been responsible for putting her in the hospital in the first place. He felt powerless over the many changes that had already occurred and those on the horizon. He was afraid he would never get “his Barbie” back, and he was exhausted.

Holding hands at the hospital

Third, he was depressed. Just a couple of days before his death, a dear family member confronted him about his depression. She begged him to seek treatment. As I remember it, she said something like this, “Les, you are clearly clinically depressed. You also have many other physical symptoms. Please, could you TRY treating the depression? Treatment might surprise you and relieve some of your other symptoms as well.” He did not agree to seek treatment, but he respected her and said something like he wondered if that might be the case.

Hospitals can be lonely and depressing places.

Fourth, he did have some significant medical issues in addition to his pain. I believe those conditions caused a great deal of fear in him. His type 2 diabetes was taking a toll on his body. He had watched his dad die slowly of complications from diabetes, and he did not want to follow that same path. 

I will always feel that Les came to a faulty conclusion when weighing all these (and probably more) factors. I will always wish he had been willing to accept the help of others – R.J. and me included – when it was freely and sincerely offered.  I will always wonder how I could have understood him better, helped him more, or given him hope. I will always feel cheated out of spending more days with him.

But at the end of this year, I can also say that I will never lose sight of the lessons in compassion that God has taught me through this close connection to someone who succumbed to suicide. I will never forget the sustaining power of the words, deeds, and prayers that were lavished on us by our friends and family during our time of profound grief. And thankfully, I will never lose all the wonderful memories I have of Les. His final act will never erase all the love and good times we shared.

God has been merciful and kind in removing my anger and replacing it with His all-sufficient love. A year after Les’s suicide, I can see and appreciate the strength and courage Les showed as he fought through many, substantial challenges. I still don’t understand his choice, but I am beginning to more fully understand his brokenness and his pain. I loved him, and I miss him. And as we approach the anniversary of that dark day, I honor his memory.