Suzanne & Kevin
Kevin and I started dating when we were 21. We grew very close, very quickly. He was my best friend. 2 peas in a pod. Inseparable. As the first couple of years continued I learned a great deal about Kevin and his life’s troubles prior to meeting me. I also learned that Kevin had tried to commit suicide when he was a teenager in high school. He hung himself in his bedroom – his father pulled him down, revived him, and he spent 2 months in a hospital afterwards.
Kevin suffered from bipolar disorder. It was not something that he admitted, or that we even discussed in relation to that label – “bipolar disorder”. I recognized it only because I had just completed a psychology degree in college and knew so much about it.
He knew there was something wrong though– every once and again he’d start to talk about it, he would say something like “I think I should go and talk to someone.” Or “I think I want to try and figure out what’s going on with me.” I’d try to engage the conversation with him, but a few minutes into the talks he would always shy away from them and change the subject.
I did my best to try not to push too hard, because I knew if I did, I would risk him running the other way and shutting down, and shutting me out, and then I wouldn’t be able to help him get that help that we both felt he so desperately needed to overcome his demons.
I loved him. I was in love with him. And love doesn’t just go away once you find out how badly someone has been struggling through life. It probably made me love him that much more.
We were together for 5 ½ years. Kevin was so kind, so compassionate for others. He was the one who would do anything for anyone. Kevin was the one who was always busy helping everyone else – too busy to look in the mirror and help himself along the way I’m afraid - now looking back on it. I learned so much from him about life in general– he taught me so much about survival, and about true, compassionate, selfless love.
One Friday night we were hanging out at my apartment. We got into an argument - a stupid argument - so stupid that I have absolutely no recollection of what we were even arguing about. For the first time since I had known him, he got somewhat "hasty". He was raising his voice. The look in his eyes scared me. He actually raised his arm up at me, then lowered it, and just about started to cry over what he had just almost done. I was beside myself. I told him I thought we should just both cool off. He agreed and got ready to leave.
Just before he left, and I cannot tell you why, or what was going on in my head, I asked him to leave the house key behind. This is the one true moment that I will never forget. His back was to me, his hand on the door knob to leave, I asked him for the key back, he turned around, walked towards me, placed the key down on the bedside table, looked me in the eye so strongly that the shame and humiliation just about cut a line right through my forehead. He was mortified. Me asking him to leave the key behind, was symbolic to him that I was at that moment, afraid of him in some way, untrusting that I was safe with him. Here is a man who has for the past almost 6 years did everything imaginable to keep me safe, and protect me, and take care of me, and at that moment, I was afraid of him -enough to ask him to leave the key behind.
He walked away, closed the door, and went home to his parents house. The next day I called him - he didn't pick up. He left me a voicemail a little while later that he was going up to New Hampshire to see his best friend Joe for the night. On Sunday I got another message that he was back home, but when I tried to call him, his mother just kept saying he was "out". I figured he was still angry with me and needed some more time before he would be ready to talk.
That Sunday night, I went to a pasta restaurant for dinner with two of my friends. At around 6pm we were on our way home from the restaurant, and my phone rang. It was the State Police. They asked me if I was in a safe location. I told them I was in the car on the highway with friends. He asked me to pull over and get to a safe location. I proceeded to say to him "tell me what the F&*#$ is going on", I had no idea why he was calling me. That is pretty much the last thing I remember of those next few minutes - my friends have had to help me fill in the gaps. Eventually the cop said to me "It's about Kevin." I said to him in reply "He's dead isn't he." - I don't remember saying it – no recollection at all. The cop wanted me down at the station right away – my friend said – “it's because you said "he's dead isn't he" – it sounded as if you already knew what he was going to tell you.” Perhaps deep down in my heart I always knew it was a possibility. All I heard was his name, and the first thing I could think of to say was "he's dead isn't he".
I got to the police station, my father was physically holding me up as I tried to gjve my statement. I remember bits and pieces but not all of it. I remember pushing and pushing the trooper to look me in the eyes and admit to me that he knew it was all my fault. I kept saying louder and louder into a yell “I WANT YOU TO LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THAT YOU AGREE WITH ME. YOU KNOW IT WAS MY FAULT. I NEED YOU TO TELL ME THAT.” Of course he didn’t. I also remember literally not being able to sit in the chair, I remember my body feeling like jello, as I slinked right out of the chair and then onto the floor, I remember lying on the carpet of the police station, and I remember my dad peeling me up off of the floor and crutching me out to the car.
It was the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend 2002 – 5/26/2002 to be exact. Kevin went to an industrial park not far from where we live, and slit both of his major arteries in either arm. After he did that, he got out of his truck, walked around to the back where his carpenter supplies were, and proceeded to hang himself from a nearby tree with an electrical cord. Cause of death was in fact asphyxiation. We’re not sure why he slit his veins too - some think it just didn’t work fast enough, so he hung himself instead. Others tell me that when someone tries again (after a previous attempt), they often times combine methods such as what he did, in an effort to ensure success.
Right after the police officer called me, I called his parents. – his father answered the phone. All that he said to me was “How could you let this happen?”
They blamed me. I wasn’t allowed to attend the wake. There was no funeral. His ashes were buried in another state in a location that I was never made aware of.
His friends didn’t talk to me for about 2 days. But then, all at once, they surrounded me. They were amazing. They tried to talk to his family with no success at all. In my defense, the officer on the case did call his parents prior to the wake and said “she really needs to say goodbye” – they said “ok, but she has to be gone before everyone gets there.”
Kevin’s best friend drove me to the funeral home, waited in the car, and I went in to say goodbye. Once inside, I saw up on an easel a poem, blown it up on poster board, placed right in the entrance way. The last line of the poem read “We know that you did this because of a fight.”
When I walked up to the casket, it was closed. I tried to open it. It wouldn’t open. I remember begging the woman to open it for me. She looked at me and said “The family has already been here to say goodbye and it was their wishes that it be closed and sealed never to be opened again.” You have no idea how hard it was for me to walk out of there. I just wanted to see him – I needed to see him. I needed to say goodbye.
Later I found out that his parents had thrown most of Kevin’s possessions away. Everything he had, they gave it all away and got rid of it. I remember crying to his friends – “I just want to lie in his bed. I just want to smell him. I want to feel him. I just want to put my face in his pillow.” There was nothing left for me to yearn for.
I took the house key back because I was afraid for my safety – because he seemed so angry that Friday night. Ironically, that’s what put him over the edge to end his life. The first thing the counselor said to me when I went the first time was “Suzanne, you asking for that key back may very well have been the only thing that prevented this from turning into a murder-suicide”.
When I told my mom that, she got very angry. “Don’t be ridiculous Suzanne – Kevin loved you very much and he would never do anything to hurt you!” But, my gut told me to ask for the key back. My gut knew I didn’t feel safe. That is all that I know for sure.
After Kevin died I basically hit the ground hard.
I was freaked out for a few weeks - afraid of the dark, hated night time, did not want to be alone. I stayed with my parents for about a month afterwards - we all had to leave our bedroom doors open at night because that’s how scared I was.
I went through a period of mass confusion, and serious contemplation - about what happens to people after they die. Why wasn’t he coming to me – why I couldn’t see him. I would lie awake at night and cry, and beg and beg and beg out loud for him to come to me. To show me a sign. To “appear”. I begged. And nothing.
She said two important things through it all – The first was: If Kevin was really who I explained him to be, then the last thing he would want would be for me to be scared. And that because I was so “spooked” and essentially afraid of ghosts in child-like terms, there’s no way he would show his face to me, for fear of scaring me any more than I already was. The second most important thing she said to me was: Once a person gets to that state – they are basically on automatic pilot. When, for example, someone has a heart attack, their heart is essentially failing them, in Kevin’s moment of trial, his brain was what essentially failed him. And there was nothing he could do to stop the actions once he got to that point. His brain took over his body, robotically, and he just went through the motions not having the control to stop it. A state of euphoria. A state of bliss. No feeling - total blackout. A take over of the body by the mind.
After about 2 years of very intense emotional work and soul searching, I regained my strength, determination, and will to survive. I was determined to work through it, overcome it to someday be happy again. Took me about 4 years total to get through the grieving process – in its entirety. But, the one part I was never able to get over, and probably never will, was the blame and responsibility I felt for what had happened. I just learned to accept it and somehow forgive myself for it.Well, not but a few months ago, I stopped at a convenience store. As I was walking into the store, I bumped right into Kevin’s younger brother. I stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I was scared out of my mind. Holy crap. What do I do. Where can I hide. Did he already see me or can I get out of this.
You know what he did? Ran up and gave me a huge hug. And then he started to cry. He couldn’t believe how good I looked, how happy I was, how “OK” I was. He had been worried sick out of his mind about me, and also had been carrying around a whole bunch of guilt all these years.He said his parents never dealt with it – he said they never say his name. He said his mom cries a lot, and also mentions me a lot. He said that I should get in touch with them because it would make his mom “so happy”. After serious contemplation, I decided I just couldn’t do it. I have not been able to forgive them internally for not letting me see him to say goodbye. I don’t think I will ever forgive them for that. I wanted so badly to just see him 1 more time, to say goodbye. It was they who kept me from that. And it is they who can’t ever give it back to me.
Because of it, I spent the first 3 months after Kevin died in some weird trance – convinced that it was just some big joke that people were playing on me, and that Kevin was going to show up on my doorstep one day and say “ha ha gotcha”. I didn’t have any closure. I had to find that closure within myself. And it took me a long, long time. 4 years to be exact. 4 years of very intense personal work.
All this time, no matter how happy or content I have been with life, in the blink of an eye, at any moment, triggers happen when I least expect them, and they send me into a crying bout without any warning at all. I used to be embarrassed by them – but now, I have learned to accept that they are just going to happen, and there’s nothing I can do about them but to cry, let it out, and press forward again. It will probably happen for the rest of my life. And that is ok.
My friend from work who doesn’t know the Kevin story came into my cube about a year ago looking very distressed. She said her good friend’s wife had just committed suicide. She didn’t know how to help him or what to do. I took one look at her and said “Give me his number I can help him.” I don’t even know what came over me! But that night I called him, and we talked for 3 hours. We talked the next night, and the next night, and the night after that. Now, a year later, he’s found a new love and is doing very well in life. That first night that I called him he said “you have no idea how helpful it is to hear the things you are saying to me. To know that I am not alone, and that somebody out there actually understands what I am feeling right now.”
As a result, I have decided that I need to get more involved. I need to, want to, start a support group and get active in the community to give back. I want to be that crisis counselor that people call when this happens to them and the family doesn’t know what to do.
I have developed a strength that I never knew I was capable of – I am probably one of the most happy, carefree, go-lucky, “it’s only life don’t sweat the small stuff” people you will ever meet. And when people finally hear my story or what I have experienced in the past – they can’t believe it! They can’t believe that the Suzanne that they know, the one who can make just about anybody laugh in any situation, the “she always makes me feel good about myself” girl - they can’t believe that I actually lived through what I lived through and am still the person that I am today.
While I preach to all that I do not want to be treated differently based on the experiences that I have lived through, and survived through, in my life, the truth is, I am absolutely different based on the experiences that I have lived through, and survived through. I am a survivor of suicide. I do not want to be treated differently for what I have survived through in life, and I do not wish what I feel, and will feel for the rest of my life, upon anyone. I do wish, however, often, that I could do something, anything, to give those around me a mere taste of what it feels like to be me.
I have been told by some that I seem to have some sort of "unique unbelievable faith in people". Call it naive, call it compassionate, call it thankful for every smile that I encounter. I wouldn't trade that so-called faith for anything in the world. I know now, 6 years later, that I was born into this life to make a difference. And I am so thankful that I am able to do it.
So often the response I get is "I can't imagine." or "How do you do it." or "Your strength never ceases to amaze me." It's simple, and I will tell you how I do it- not a single second of a single day goes by that I don't wish Kevin back here on this earth. Not a single breath that I take is not taken with the desire and want for him not to have taken his life, not only from himself, but from all of us who truly loved him and benefited from all that he gave to our lives.
6 years later - and not a moment passes that I do not wish that I could have just 1 single moment more with him- to tell him that I'm so sorry, to tell him how important he was not only to me, but to this entire world that he left behind. 6 years later - and I would give anything - anything at all - for just one single moment with him standing right in front of me.
