Category Archives: Loss

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Her Suicide Still Speaks, Part 3

From a Christian Perspective

I refute the belief that suicide is selfish.

A friend of mine recently posted about suicide. He said suicidal people need to reach out, find help, and not be so selfish. He equated suicide with a selfish act. I didn’t respond to his comment but I did think, “No, that’s not true.” I strongly disagree with that common view of suicide that he was espousing. I do not believe selfishness has anything to do with why a person chooses to commit suicide even though it is the self who makes the choice.

People choose to commit suicide because they are in pain.

Suicidal people are desperate. They want the daily struggle to end. They don’t see a way out. They have lost hope. They don’t think they can face another day. They want it all to stop; the negative voices, hopeless thoughts, and wretched weariness with the daily struggle. They don’t want to be a burden to others, not realizing the heavy burden they are now placing on those who will be affected by their suicide.

Depression, despair, and hopelessness have darkened their days. Broken relationships have left them devastated, demoralized, and scarred. It all seems like too much, too big of a hill to climb. The journey back all too encompassing a task … for them to dredge up the will to overcome and to continue to press on.

In her final letter, my sister wrote, “I would go home, but I don’t want to be a burden to my family.” She was misguided in her rationale. Her family would have welcomed her home and would have done anything to help her. She also said she couldn’t face another day at work.

I wish she would have contacted someone.

She was tired of fighting her inner struggles, depression, the will to fight on. As a family, we wish we had known it was the moment she needed help. I called her that night about an upcoming family event, but my call was placed too late.

You can wish there were second chances. We all know there are none.

Satan takes advantage when he perceives a weakness in the spiritual armor.

I also believe that Satan influences the vulnerable and speaks lies to them. “You can’t handle this. You’re not going to make it. Why not end it?” People talk about hearing voices, some of them are from the evil one. He pushes the vulnerable to want death as the answer to free them from their pain. He whispers the lie that they are better off ending it, that all is hopeless and this will end their suffering and pain. He clouds their vision with darkness that colors everything they do. I, also, have felt that darkness on occasion. It is immobilizing and blocks out joy, happiness, and well-being.

Of course, what Satan whispers is deceptive. Satan deceives. He is all about sin, evil, suffering and death. Satan is active in engaging people to consider suicide as their out. Here’s why. He is the enemy of life. God is the giver of life. He hates God with a vengeance. Not only is he the enemy of God, he is in a battle against God. He hates what God loves and wages war against it.

Human beings are created in God’s image. That separates us from other created beings. God is about life and living. Satan wants to destroy what God has created in any way he can, which includes us, the human — God’s triumph — people whom God gave the will and power to discern and choose. He doesn’t want humans to choose life, especially eternal life through Jesus Christ.

Satan is a cunning adversary and powerful foe. I know he was there at time of my sister’s death. My family could feel an evil presence during the days after her passing. Some of it was like a veil of darkness. It was creepy and scary. Out of respect for my family, I will not elaborate on this aspect.

I also reject the notion that suicide means they’re damned to hell.

I just don’t believe it. Their eternal existence depends on the state of their soul, whether saved or unsaved. Several Christians of my acquaintance have family members who have committed suicide. I knew some of them. I believe these people were sincere, believing Christians. Depression hovered about them, defining their lives in tortuous ways others could not possibly understand … unless they’ve been on the cusp. They suffered. Their families were fearful for them. Yet, I’m positive some or all of them knew the Lord. The two would seem to be incompatible at first blush.

Some things are not so simple.

There are many factors when there is a sucide. Some think my sister is not in heaven, is lost, for two reasons: she turned away from belief in God; and she chose to end her life. I know what scripture says, that if we reject him, he will reject us. I also know God keeps his true children in the palm of his hand and says no one can take them from him. There is comfort in those last words.

The question is, did she have saving grace? Was she a Christian or not? For my part, I believe my sister knew the Lord. I saw it in the way she cared for others, and her kindness, and the affirmation she imparted to others. I saw it in the times when she walked closely with the Lord. She was serious about faith being authentic belief. She often had questions, the kind that I believe can only be answered with the eyes of faith.

My sister struggled with spiritual belief off and on throughout  life. But that does not mean she was not God’s child. She would open up to me about her struggle (starting at age 12). I’ll never forget the first time she confided in me. I was shocked at her unhappiness with it all. It scared me. I saw in her a dislike of legalistic strictness, a weariness with the church and family’s expectations and rigid viewpoints. She wanted to get out of that cage of spiritual perfectionism and live free of its constraints.

She indicated that we didn’t know the real her. Many of us could say the same. Who really knows another person?

Somehow she missed the better stuff, the joy of a living relationship with God, of ‘being,’ of living fully centered in Christ, of knowing what it is to be truly free, of being delightfully immersed in God’s love. In those days we treated our Christian faith more as a belief system than as a loving, reciprocal relationship. I don’t believe she ever knew the sweetness that one can have in God.

Yet even in her pain and self-stuff, I think she could not get away from God’s presence in her life, though she tried to ignore his voice by acting as if he didn’t exist. Often called, the hound of heaven, he pursued her. God was calling to her, drawing her to himself, wanting her to know him. But she resisted, couldn’t quite go there, couldn’t quite turn the corner to return to the faith of her past. If only she had known what she was missing.

People ask me, “Do you think Lois is in heaven?” It’s a hard question. God only knows. I do not. I think so, but that’s me. I have always believed she is and have peace that it is true. I think God saw her pain, her hurt and confusion, and the Good Shepherd had compassion on his straying lamb, his little lost sheep. Maybe I am in denial, wishful, and I may be in error with my conclusion in the matter. I hope not.

I believe Lois and I will meet again on the other side. I hope with my whole heart to see her. My heart leaps with joy as I picture it. She and I tightly embrace on my welcome into the promised land where an eternality of hope rests in its peace and gloriousness.

. . .

This is the ending of my three part talk on losing my sister by suicide. I shared more this time than on past years. I wanted you to see behind the curtain, and how it is confusing for Christians. Many of you have been influenced by someone’s suicide, and it’s been a hard journey forward. You understand my heart. After losing Lois, I have used my experience to learn and grow and to help anyone I can. I hope these writings are helpful. I care deeply. I don’t believe in easy answers. I want people to receive the help they need.

Tomorrow I will post an addendum with a list of suggestions to help a suicidal person get on the road to recovery. Until then, God bless you. Leave me a comment. I’d love to hear from you. Blessings, Norma

…

Photos: With my siblings, Lois as a baby, and mr holding Lois.

Back Links to this series: Part 1 and Part 2

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Her Suicide Still Speaks, Part 2

Here is WHY I am writing about suicide on Thanksgiving week

-1993-

In 1993, the church’s Thanksgiving celebration dinner was on a Sunday night. All the people’s praises and proud moments from the past months were being shared publicly. It was all happy. I couldn’t sit there any longer. Joining in the joy was impossible. I wrapped my coat around me, left my family at the table, walked across the gym to the double doors and out into the cold night air. A woman followed me. I knew of her hidden pain. We stood there, just the two of us, looking at the stars. I held back my tears. She was teary-eyed. We were in pain, neither of us talking.

She’d been married ten years and desperately wanted children. But two recent miscarriages plus an upset in a church where her husband had pastored and where they had ministered together, had left their mark, and with doubt and confusion about their calling. Wounded. They were trying to recover, to get their feet back on solid ground. My sister’s passing two months before had left me sad, injured, regretting, in raw pain. I was utterly dismayed by it. The woman had known my sister in college.

I said to her. “I’m not very thankful this Thanksgiving.” She said, “I’m not, either.” Our broken hearts comforted each other that barren night.

-2018-

At first I had misgivings about posting this blog post about suicide during a week dedicated to being thankful. It seemed inappropriate and the content too dark. I knew some of my readers would be waiting for Part 2, but some of the others might find it depressing. Then I thought of how people get suicidal during the holiday season. That is the WHY I am going ahead.

Three friends recently talked with me about suicide before I wrote the original post (which is now divided into three parts). One person asked me why Lois  ended her life. That is the usual first question I am asked, along with a second question, whether I think she’s in heaven or not and why I think so.

Maybe it is the right time, afterall.

Lonely people suffer during the holidays. A few of them consider committing suicide. Some will follow through, sad to say. They can’t take it any longer. I believe emotional or physical pain, loss of hope and belief that it will never get better, chemical imbalances and depression, spiritual alienation, abuse, disorders, significant loss –relationship, health, financial– negative self-talk, and despair are some of the reasons. I believe Satan whispers his lies and uses the power of influence to deceive the discouraged, suicidal person into believing they are better off dead than alive. He is a master of disguise. He makes good seem bad, and bad seem good.

My mother delighted in her children

Mother and Lois birthdays were a day apart. Celebrating at my house.

Like the rest of us,  Mother missed Lois, but her’s was with a mother’s heart. That has got to be more intense. She had birthed Lois, had dreams for her daughter, had prayed faithfully for her. She was excited about Lois’ successes, but she was worried over her daughter’s increasing distance from her faith, from her Christian beliefs, and from her famalial heritage.

When it doesn’t make sense

The three years before she passed, my sister chose a different way, which meant she had less interest in attending family events, and had less commonality with us. That hurt and confused, and we didn’t really understand what was going on with her or the reasoning behind it, other than the occasional hint. This scared us.

We feared for Lois, knowing that abandoning one’s faith removes the moral compass and invites wrong thinking and wrong friendships. My sister Marilyn in Oregon and me in California committed to praying specifically for Lois, every day at mid-morning, believing the verse, that where two are gathered in his name there is power.

My siblings were concerned for Lois, as was Mom. After a family reunion, my sister told Mom that she didn’t believe like the family, and she didn’t believe in God anymore. Mother was devastated by this. Her view of our perfect Christian family tumbled to smithereens that day, like a house of cards. Her life’s work — us kids, collapsed. Her prayer life deepened out of concern for Lois. I am sure many of you can relate to this. Mom grieved, then and later, probably more than I can imagine. She carried her hurt and loss alone, rarely speaking of it.

Mother encouraged me in my spiritual quest, in my desire to help wounded people. I think the reason she supported me was because of losing Lois, and her realizing that life is not so simple as Christians glibly say, and because I get that. She wanted me to get my message out.

Like my friend Bob once said, “I grasped for love, and caught its pain.” I love that line. It is so true.  Pain happens to all of us.

After Lois died, Mother and I would talk about Lois when it was only the two of us. She couldn’t talk about Lois with her friends and not much with her family, either. It was a taboo subject, a silent thing, something forbotten, mysterious, like something you almost have to have permission to talk about.

It was safe for Mother to speak with me about Lois. I was open, learning, curious, sensitive. And I spoke with grace in regard to Lois. That ministered to Mom’s need. She was hurting in ways not visible. Lois’ death was like an earthquake, not like a little rumble. She and I could not understand it, though. We put some of the pieces together, but some of Lois’ secrets and troubles went to the grave with her.

This year, 2018, it has been twenty-five years since I last spoke with Lois, in person, four weeks before she left us. The kids and I made a trip to Oregon to see my sisters. It was a beautiful day out and the kids and I went for a walk with Lois at a park in Beaverton, OR, near where she lived, and we had dinner and watched a movie at her digs. She was thoughtful and quiet that day.

You are never the same after you lose someone to suicide

I write about suicide on this blog since that is how I lost my sister.  I know first-hand how much it hurts. My dad, now eighty-nine, said to me the other day, that he has had a good life, that he has no regrets, that marrying my mother was one of the best decisions he ever made. He paused, then said, “except for losing Lois.” My parents, in particular, bore that loss deep in their hearts, in silence, though not in bitterness. They never blamed God, they accepted as best they could, the difficult and almost impossible to accept.

We miss Lois with a sadness that is different than most ways people experience sad feelings. Suicide begins a painful journey that speaks a strangely silent sorrow that you can never quite get over, although you go on, and the pain lessens, and you heal. Fortunately, its effect dims with time, to some degree, but there’s still that empty spot, the person not there, the hole in the heart. Regret, failure, nostalgia, love, pain, longings, memories, sweetness all come with the sorrow one experiences after a suicide.

. . .

How are you doing?

Are you in despair? Have you come to the end of  your rope? Do you wish somebody cared? Someone does care. I care. If I could give you a gift right now, I would give you hope. Hope says, the sun will rise again. Life will become sweeter after the storm has passed. Sunshine will come into your life once again, down the road and around the bend. Don’t listen to the voices in your head. They’re lying to you. Lay it all at the feet of Jesus. If it’s all dark, pressing, heavy, and you don’t think you can face another day, please call a crisis line or reach out to someone. That’s your next step. The world needs you. I want you to hold on, to make it. I want to know you made it. I’m going to pray for you right now. Hold on to hope. Copy that. God bless you.

Part 3 — Continued in my next post.

Part 1 is here.

Photo — At Grandma’s house with my sisters: Juanita, me, Lois,  Marilyn and Uncle Vernon and Grandma Weigold. Circa 1983.

Disclaimer. I speak for myself, not for my family. This is my personal opinion, my take, and my conclusions.

Thank you to my family for allowing me to share our family’s heartache. You were willing to trust me with this.