Mrs. v E goes to Washington

On June 12th I will travel to Washington for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention's annual advocacy forum. I have been serving as an AFSP field advocate for about 3 years, but this is my first time participating in the forum. I will be meeting with all of our CT delegation; talking to them about my experience and sharing ideas about what we can do as a nation to prevent suicide and improve mental health.

As part of our forum preparation, AFSP asked us to write up vignettes that could be included in the packets that will be left with legislative staff. Even though much of the content is from stuff I've written before, I thought I would share mine here.

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On June 17, 2009 my precious 17-year-old daughter, Emma Jane, passed away. Emma was beautiful, bright, and articulate, with an effervescent personality. She was a talented musician who shared her musical gifts generously and participated in every musical ensemble she could fit into her schedule. She was a caring daughter, sister, and friend and a bright light in the lives of many, many people.

Emma took her own life.

When Emma killed herself she created a tsunami of destruction that swept up family, friends, teachers, ministers, mentors and neighbors. All of us struggled against the current of guilt, pain, shock and bewilderment. For her immediate family: her father, sister and me, life as we knew it ended.

I’m not sure we will ever fully understand why Emma ended her life; what caused what must have been an incredibly deep sense of despair and hopelessness; or why she couldn’t reach out to us or to the many other caring adults and professionals she had in her life. Nonetheless, in the days, weeks and months after Emma’s death I turned to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) to learn more about suicide and to search for clues that would help explain why my beautiful, bright, talented daughter was gone from our lives.

The facts that I discovered about suicide shocked and alarmed me. Suicide claims close to 39,000 lives in the United States, which is nearly as many as breast cancer and more than twice as many as HIV/AIDS. According to the CDC, suicide was the second leading cause of death for children ages 12-17 in 2010. With statistics like those, how is it that no one; not our schools, not our pediatrician, not even Emma’s therapist of three years, had talked to us about suicide and alerted us to the warning signs? If my husband and I knew the warning signs, would we have been able to get her the right help? My daughter’s pediatrician saw Emma just 3 weeks before her death for a hormonal disorder that can cause depression. Had she understood the risk of suicide in teens like Emma, would she have treated that disorder more aggressively or, perhaps, referred her to a psychiatrist for an assessment? If her therapist, who she saw the night before she ended her life, had had specific training in assessment of suicide risk, would she have picked up a sign that would have allowed us to intervene before it was too late?

I became involved with AFSP as a field advocate because I believe we can do a better job of preventing suicide. We can raise awareness about suicide prevention and mental illness and reduce the stigma that prevents people from seeking help. We can get all the information we already know about suicide prevention into the hands of the people who are best positioned to identify and intervene with those at risk: school personnel, primary care physicians, and behavioral health providers. We can fund research that will unlock remaining mysteries about suicide and mental illnesses and lead to safer and more effective treatments.  If we join together to do these things, I know we can save lives.

There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about Emma and remember the gift that she was in our lives. Working on behalf of AFSP is my way of honoring her and thanking her for the many beautiful memories that I treasure.

A Happy St. Pat's to You

I distinctly remember St. Patrick's Day the year Emma was in kindergarten. The week before St. Patrick's Day, Emma's kindergarten teacher began telling her students stories about the mischievous leprechaun that visited her classroom each year. Each year, she told them, the leprechaun visited the night before St. Patrick's Day and overturned desks, mixed up books on the bookshelves, and scattered supplies around the room - a very naughty leprechaun! I gathered that most of her kindergarteners loved these stories and looked forward to seeing the havoc wreaked in their classroom by the naughty leprechaun. They admired the leprechaun's chutzpah (can leprechauns have chutzpah?), and looked forward to living vicariously through the leprechaun's naughtiness. Emma was less sure. Emma liked things to be predictable, orderly, and well-behaved. She came home telling stories about the naughty leprechaun with a mixture of excitement and dread. She liked the fantasy part of the story, but did the leprechaun have to make a mess? More importantly, she wanted to know if the leprechaun was going to come make a mess of her house. No, we reassured her, certainly not. She did not find us totally convincing.

When Emma woke up for school the morning of St. Patrick's Day, magic was afoot. Outside her bedroom door was a giant shamrock with some gold foil wrapped candy on top of it. Emma excitedly followed a trail of shamrocks and candy that led down the hallway and into the kitchen. On the kitchen table were more shamrocks and a little gift at Emma's and Sarah's places.  "We have a leprechaun!" Emma squealed with delight. 

Emma was excited to head off to school that morning. She couldn't wait to tell her teacher that she had a leprechaun, too, and that her leprechaun was nice, not naughty.

From that time on, Emma always looked forward to the leprechaun's visits. In fact, every year, even when she was 16 years old, a few days before St. Patrick's Day she would ask me, "Mom, do you think the leprechaun will come again this year?" It was a gentle reminder that even when life got busy, there was always room for a little St. Patrick's Day magic.

A happy St. Pat's to you, Emmie Lou. And for the record, the leprechaun still visits. 

Caution - Volunteering for the PTA May Cause Suicide!

This past Thursday started out just like any other day, but by noon things were steadily going down hill. I drove to Stamford for a lunchtime meeting and found a parking spot on the street, behind another car. When I got out of the car I noticed a sign on the street that made me question whether I was parked legally. There was a parking lot right in front of the building where I was headed, so I hopped backed in my car to move it, just to be on the safe side. I turned the key in the ignition, and...nothing. I tried again - nothing. My meeting was starting, so I left the car and headed into the building. I'd deal with the car after the meeting.

The meeting was scheduled to run two hours, but I left after an hour and a half so that I could deal with my car. On my way out of the building, I phoned Triple A.  We agreed it was likely a dead battery. They would get to me within 45 minutes and give me a jump start. If I was lucky, I'd still make it back to work in time for my 3 pm meeting.

I got into my car while I waited for Triple A and decided to give the engine one more try. I turned the key in the ignition and, reluctantly, the car started. Yahoo! I called back Triple A and canceled the service call, phoned my office to cancel my 3 pm meeting, and then drove directly to a garage around the corner from my house.

The garage didn't have the size battery I needed in stock, but they called to have one delivered and assured me that delivery time was usually under 15 minutes. An hour and half later the battery finally arrived and a few minutes after that I was on my way. By now, it was nearly time to pick Sarah up at school after field hockey practice, so I dashed home, let the dogs out quickly, checked my email, put the dogs back in their crates and then headed out again.

On my way to the car, I saw the mailman pulling away from our mailbox, so I quickly collected our mail, and then hopped into the car. There were only two pieces of what I call "real mail" - mail that is not a bill or a catalog.  I could tell from the return address that one was from friends of ours and was probably a birth announcement. The other piece was more mysterious. It was addressed solely to me in what I would describe as youthful handwriting and there was no return address. I wondered if it could be from a friend of Emma's. I have really enjoyed seeing and hearing from her friends over these past three years, so with some happy anticipation, I tore open the envelope before starting the car.

When I looked inside the envelope, I saw a newspaper clipping which I immediately recognized as the CT Post article that I had been interviewed for three months ago. Tucked inside that clipping was a note that said, "Maybe if you spent more time with your kids instead of running PTAs your family would not have suffered this unspeakable tragedy. Family first!" The exclamation point had a little heart where the period should be.

I shoved the note back into the envelope and threw the envelope onto the floor of the car. I'm not sure I was breathing. I was completely in shock. I had to get Sarah, so I turned on the car and headed for Milford, but before I had gotten very far I burst into tears. I knew I shouldn't make the drive in that condition, so I frantically began calling Peter. I reached him within a few minutes and he packed up quickly and headed for Milford, urging me to call a friend when I got back home. He was angry and worried and clearly felt helpless.

Consciously and subconsciously I have dreaded a moment like that for most of the last three years. I know that families are often blamed for suicide deaths and there was no reason to believe we would be immune to that. When the CT Post reporter left a message for me saying that she wanted to interview me for an article about teen suicide, I hesitated before calling her back. Maybe I didn't need to open myself up to criticism and backlash. There's a saying, though: 'Be the change you want to see." If I wanted to see a world in which the myths that surround suicide are shattered, and where those who suffer  and survivors of suicide loss feel free to seek help and support without shame or stigma, I had to help build that world. Telling my story is the first step.
 
Over the last few days, as a result of receiving that hateful note,  I have struggled with two competing emotions: wanting to vociferously defend my track record as a parent, on the one hand; and wanting to curl up under a rock and hide, on the other.  The first is not an option. The author of that note didn't have the courage to sign his/her message. I don't have the option of facing my accuser. Curling up under a rock is not an option either. I have another child and that child needs her mother. A few days after Emma died, my very wise and very strong, Sarah,  looked me and Peter in the eyes and said, "We are not going to let this destroy us." For the last three years we have worked really hard to carry on, remember Emma, use our gifts, and stay strong - together; because that is what families do.

If you would like to help us prevent suicide, please join us for the Out of the Darkness Walk on Saturday, October 27th at Sherwood Island. You can join or contribute to Team Emma by clicking here.

National Suicide Prevention Week

 National Suicide Prevention Week begins on Sunday, September 9th, and I can't help but reflect on the journey I have been on since I lost my precious Emma to suicide a little more than three years ago. 

This past spring, inspired by a support group conversation the night before, I was reflecting on how my experience with suicide loss had changed over the last year. One notable change, I realized, was that people I knew had begun reaching out to me as a resource when suicide touched their own lives. As I was driving to work that spring morning, I tallied the number of times this past year that I had gotten a call or email from someone I knew who had just lost a friend or family member to suicide and was desperate to know where to go for information and support. The number was five. In my relatively small circle of friends and acquaintances,  five people had lost someone to suicide in less than a year. I found that stunning. What is even more stunning, is that by the time I was making the drive home from work at the end of that same day, the number had risen to seven.

So when I reflect on what I have learned on my journey in this past year, one of the most important lessons is this: suicide is not just a personal tragedy, it is a national tragedy. Each year more than 35,000 people in the U.S. die by suicide and CT's rate of death by suicide is at a 20 year high. In the wake of these tragic losses, hundreds of thousands of friends and family members are left to make sense of their loss and put their lives back together again. When you add up the price of all this devastation: years of productive life lost, wages lost, health and mental health care costs; you realize that the cost of suicide is enormous.

I have also learned this: as a nation, we will never inspire the national response necessary to address this national tragedy if we are depending on the survivors of suicide loss to wage that war.  As survivors, we have the will and resolve to bring change and find answers; to help others win a battle that, sadly, we have lost; but we are walking wounded. We can't do this alone. If we are going to wage war against suicide we need allies in our schools, in our healthcare institutions, in our workplaces, in our communities, in government, and amongst our legislators. My hope is that National Suicide Prevention Week will lead to greater awareness, new alliances, and the strengthening of our national resolve to give the issue of suicide the time, attention, and resources that are necessary to find answers and develop responses.

One of the ways I have become involved in the war against suicide is by participating in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention - Southern CT Chapter's annual Out of the Darkness Walk. We were inspired to participate in our first walk by a friend of Emma's who found out about the walk and formed a team just weeks after Emma's death. We have been participating ever since and have been heartened to see the growth in community support and awareness that the walk has helped to create. It is truly bringing suicide out of the darkness.

This year's walk will be held on Saturday, October 27th, at Sherwood Island State Park in Westport, CT. Registration begins at noon and the walk will begin at 1 pm. I hope that you will consider becoming an ally in the war against suicide by joining or supporting Team Emma. The walk is as much about building awareness, as it is about fundraising; so your presence is truly valued as much as any monetary presents. Three years down this difficult road of suicide survival I believe more than ever that the first step to finding an answer is shining a light on the problem. I hope you'll join us at the walk and help us do just that.

 To join or contribute to Team Emma, click here. 

Special registration instructions for returning walkers:
AFSP has updated the walk website and there are a few frustrating glitches. The instructions below should get you registered quickly and easily:
1. Go to www.afsp.org and click on Out of the Darkness Community Walks in the upper right-hand corner of the home page
2. Log in to your existing account on the walk home page by entering your email and password. If you have forgotten your password there is an option to have the password sent to your email address
3. Search for the event - Southern CT Chapter, Sherwood Island State Park, Saturday, Oct. 27th
4. Search for the team - Team Emma
5. Click join this team
6. Answer brief questions.
7. You're done!

Peter's Scholarship Presentation Speech

Once again, we survived what has become the most difficult week of the year for us. It began with the anniversary of Emma's death on June 17th which, this year, collided with Father's Day. After that, we had Awards night at both of our town's high schools, where we present the scholarships we established in Emma's memory; our wedding anniversary; and Emma's birthday. For Peter, he had the added stress of the end of school and a moving up ceremony for his graduating 5th graders. It is a week filled with joyful memories and unimaginable sadness. It is a week that reminds us that we are surviving, and a week that highlights that things will never be the same. 

I wanted to share Peter's presentation speech. It speaks for itself:

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Hello, I’m Peter von Euler, and this is my wife Nancy.

 It’s ironic that I’m here presenting a music scholarship award.  If anyone asks me, I usually say, “I’m not particularly musical,” or, “I don’t really have a great ear,” or, “I could never carry a tune.”  It’s also ironic because my daughter, Emma had everything that I lacked. 

In creating this scholarship, my wife, my daughter, and hundreds of family members and friends are trying to continue Emma’s music legacy where she left off.  Before we present the scholarship that bears her name, I hope you’ll allow me to make a plea. 

My plea is for you to never say the things about yourself that I just said a few moments ago.  Don’t ever say you’re not musical.  Music is about bringing different notes together to create a sound that moves people to smile, to dance, to cry, or find peace.   Most importantly music is about pulling different sounds together and creating harmony.  I could easily hear my daughter’s musical talents when she sang or played the flute, but I may have missed her most important musical gift.   She accepted people.  She celebrated differences.  She loved the quirky, the unconventional, the disconnected, and she often brought them together in a beautiful way.  I’m striving for that kind of musicality in my life.

Don’t say, “I don’t have a good ear.”  Maybe I don’t have perfect pitch, as some say my daughter had, but that doesn’t mean I can’t train my ear.  I can listen for subtle notes of trouble or struggle in someone else’s voice.  I can say, “How are you doing?” and insert a rest, leaving room for an honest reply.

Don’t say, “I can’t carry a tune.”  When Emma died by suicide just five days short of her 17^th birthday, I lost my voice.  I was rendered mute by shame at how she died, by guilt at what I could have done, by fear that I might never be happy again.  In the three years since Emma died, my wife has helped me find my voice.  She stunned me by singing part of her eulogy at Emma’s memorial service.  She then started writing down all of the beautiful memories from Emma’s life and sharing them in a public blog.  She wrote, “I refuse to allow Emma, or our lives together, to be defined by [her last] desperate act.”   In effect, she echoed the lines we hear sung so movingly at Relay for Life every year, “I will remember you,” and, “Weep not for the memories.”  She has shown me how to carry that tune.

In these past three years, the broader tune we have tried to carry is that we should strive to be a musical community. Though we may sound different notes in race, religion, opinion, or sexual orientation, we all need to work toward harmony.  Our goal was never uniformity or perfect agreement.  That makes for a boring song. Instead, our goal is to become part of some bigger composition that holds together beautifully.    To appreciate some music, and some people, you have to stop and listen.  You may have to get used to a new and unfamiliar sound.  Usually, if you listen openly, your ear can find something to appreciate, even in a piece that challenges you or makes you uncomfortable.  Here’s a challenging note, but one we hope you’ll try to carry forward:  mental illness is a legitimate health issue that you cannot and should not try to solve alone. It must stop being a cause for shame.  Please carry that refrain with you as you move on from this school.

The Emma Jane von Euler Music Scholarship is awarded each year to a Fairfield high school senior who is planning to continue his or her study of music in college. Candidates for this scholarship demonstrate not only a talent and love for music, but also a kind and generous spirit and a desire to help and inspire others. This year we’re thrilled to present the scholarship to someone who has shown that she [he] can make beautiful music in many ways.  Congratulations, Danielle Cupp [Sam Warnick].