Worcester Out of the Darkness Walk

I've already shared the remarks Peter made at the October 23rd Out of the Darkness Walk. Here's what I said at that event:

I want to tell you a story about something that happened to me just last week. I was attending my second meeting of a new American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP)-sponsored support group. I arrived very early for the meeting, so I decided to sit in my car and catch up on email until some others arrived. I could see a gentleman milling about near the house where the meeting was held – another early arrival, I presumed. After a couple of minutes, he headed down the hill towards the parking lot. As he approached my car I thought quickly about whether I should open my window and talk to this stranger. But since I felt certain that he was there for the support group, maybe for the first and most difficult time, I put my window down to speak to him.

“You here for the meeting, too?’ he asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Well all those houses up there are dark, so I couldn’t really tell where I should be going,” he said. “I think we’re still early, but I’ve been here before, so I can show you where to go,” I reassured him. I hopped out of my car and we walked up the hill towards the house together.

“So, are you on the board?” he asked. “The board?” Now I was the one who was confused. “Yeah, you’re here for the board meeting, right?”  “Oh, no,” I said. “I guess we’re here for different meetings after all.” 

I was hoping he’d let it go at that, but he didn’t.  “What meeting are you here for?” he asked. “I’m here for a support group,” I answered, once again hoping he’d drop the subject. “What kind of support group?” he persisted. “Oh..it’s a – a church-sponsored support group.” Not exactly an accurate response, but I hoped it would be enough information for us to leave this uncomfortable topic. “What’s it a support group for?” he pressed on.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to drop the subject, so I felt I had no choice – “It’s a survivors of suicide group.” I expected the usual stunned expression followed by the awkward silence. “Did you lose someone to suicide?” he asked without missing a beat. He went on to extract details about my loss: who it was, how old she was at the time, and how long ago it had happened.

When he was done quizzing me, he paused briefly and then said, “I lost my 20 year-old son to suicide. It’s been almost 20 years now. I can tell you the pain never goes away, but it does get better. You’ll find a way to be happy again.”

I don’t know about you, but I was amazed by this encounter – that a random stranger, approaching me in a parking lot, looking for a different meeting than I was attending, ended up having experienced the same horrific loss of a loved one to suicide.

But when you consider the statistics, I really shouldn’t have been so amazed. After all, suicide claims 33,000 lives each year in the US; that’s nearly as many lives as breast cancer and more than twice as many as HIV/AIDS. Suicide is the third leading cause of death for people ages 15-24, the second leading cause of death for college students, and claims the lives of high school students at an alarming rate of more than ten per day.

As powerful as those numbers are, however, losing someone you know to suicide makes you understand the devastation of suicide in a way that numbers just don’t. For us, that was amplified by the stream of people, some of whom we had known for many years, who came forward after Emma’s death to tell us that they, too, had lost a loved one this way. There were so many that I devoted a page in my journal to recording them, and the list grew quite long: 4 different neighbors who lost brothers to suicide; a friend of Emma’s who lost a sister to suicide and another who lost two aunts; a community member who lost his father to suicide, another who lost her mother, another who lost his daughter, two who lost brothers, and yet another whose sister attempted suicide, but survived; two work associates who lost their fathers, another who lost her nephew, another an aunt, and a another who lost her sister; and a family at our church that lost a husband and father just a year before Emma died. This was added to the list of people we had already lost to this scourge – for me, 2 friends from elementary school and a college classmate; and for Peter, an aunt he never got the chance to know.

I share this list and my opening story for two reasons: first, to let you know that you are not alone. As isolated as you may feel at times, there are people all around you who have shared this experience and know what you are going through. And if you have the courage to share your story, they will share theirs.

And second, to thank you and congratulate you for being here today to take suicide out of the darkness. I believe that it’s time to take a sledgehammer to the wall of silence that surrounds suicide and mental illness. Dialog will promote action, and action, in the form of education, awareness, treatment and research, will save lives. By being here today and raising vital funds to support AFSP you are doing just that.

I just want to end by thanking some incredible people. First, I want to thank the team of Clark University students who organized this first ever Out of the Darkness walk in Worcester: Maya Allen, Heather Choronzy, Tom Lynch, Chelsea Kryspin and Nick Flemister. You’ve done an amazing job and I know everyone here joins me in thanking you for your hard work and dedication. I want to especially thank Chelsea Kryspin, who is a very good friend of Emma’s. Since Emma’s death Chelsea has been tirelessly working to educate people, raise awareness, and raise funds for AFSP. Chelsea you have been an incredible source of inspiration and support and we love and admire you.

I also want to thank Lainie Oshlag, another very dear friend of Emma’s who organized a team for today’s walk and, just like Chelsea, has been the best friend anyone could hope for.   We’re so proud of you and so grateful for what you’ve done for Emma and for us.