You Never Get All the Answers

On March 11, 2002, my 20-year-old brother Luke planned to meet me for lunch to go over some tax forms and talk more about his future goals. Since our mother died when Luke was 8 years old, I have been Luke's legal guardian. When Debbie and I married, together we raised Luke like he was our son.

Luke's dream career was to be a fishing and tackle guide. He loved fishing and even as young as three years old he'd beg, "Let's go gishin'." Luke's inability to pronounce "fishing" did not dull his enthusiasm for the sport. He planned to take some night classes in business to better prepare him for his aspirations. In the meantime, Luke was working in a manufacturing job and living in a house with two other bachelors. About 9 a.m. that Tuesday, I called Luke to confirm our lunch appointment. He sounded groggy, but that was fairly common because he suffered from hay fever and allergies.

When Luke did not show up for lunch by 11:45, I left a message on his cell phone. I figured he had some car problems and would call eventually. Three days later I received a phone call at work that forever changed our lives.

Luke was discovered dead in the shower and his 37-year-old roommate Greg was found slumped in his car in the closed garage. Greg apparently spent that Monday night at a local bar. A father of three, he'd received divorce papers that day and was drowning his sorrows. In the bar, he spoke loosely about getting a gun to kill himself. Hours later, Greg walked home, turned his car on in the garage and committed suicide.

Because carbon monoxide is odorless and tasteless, Luke had no idea what he was breathing in his bedroom above the garage. On Tuesday morning after our phone conversation, Luke went to take a shower. A delivery person discovered Greg in the garage Wednesday morning, and the police found Luke dead in the shower. It took a couple days to piece together the evidence and contact our family.

Everyone loved Luke. His optimism and love for life was evidenced in the impact he had on the world. More than 400 people turned out to attend Luke's funeral.

Those first months of grief were extremely difficult. A normally in-control planner, I reacted by quitting my job, in an effort to let go of things and enjoy life more. In all the confusion and pain, Debbie suddenly needed everything to be planned and structured. I was trying to survive on my own and often did not recognize Debbie's attempts to help. Debbie worked hard to keep everything well planned and in order, but I often resisted. We were going polar opposites in our grieving, and our communication and marriage suffered.

Through grief counseling, Debbie and I realized that we each grieved differently. Together, we had to learn how to meet back in the middle in our relationship. Thankfully, we also had friends who didn't just let us hibernate in our grief. At one point, a close friend ignored Debbie's "I'm okay, I don't need anything" line and came over with brownies (Debbie loves chocolate!). The two of them sat together talking, crying and enjoying "brownie therapy." When people are grieving, it's important to respect individual boundaries, but it's also crucial to call and visit and keep involved in their lives.

Initially Debbie and I were also angry at Greg's selfish behavior in taking his life and snuffing out Luke's life in the process. But learning about suicidal behavior helped us begin to understand: To a person contemplating suicide, life is like looking through the peephole on a door, seeing the world through tunnel vision.

A month after Luke's death, I called our local suicide prevention group and met with the director. Debbie and I wanted to honor Luke and make sure he would never be forgotten. Getting involved in suicide prevention was our way of making sure Luke's life and his legacy achieved great purposes.

Together Debbie and I took training and began to speak to groups, particularly college and high school students, about suicide awareness and prevention. We've found nearly 95 percent of people attending our talks know someone who has threatened, attempted or actually completed a suicide.

As Debbie and I have educated ourselves about suicide, we've learned that Greg announcing in the bar that he was going to take his life was his way of asking for help. Greg even told the other roommate that he planned to kill himself, but that guy nonchalantly replied, "Well, don't do it in my house." Somehow finding out about his struggle helps us to better understand his actions.

Luke would still be alive today if any number of people who knew Greg would have said, "Hey, are you okay?" Debbie and I learned in our training that when people talk about committing suicide it's important take them seriously and ask direct questions about their thoughts and feelings.

Most family members who have lost a son or daughter to suicide rarely talk about it. They feel shamed by the public stigma over suicide. The fact that most cases of suicide are related to depression or some form of mental illness only adds to the family's struggle. Because Luke did not complete suicide, but his death is related to suicide, Debbie and I are able talk more openly about the subject. When we share our story, many people affected by suicide feel the safety and freedom to share their pain.

Suicide grievers often feel responsible for missing the sadness in their loved one's life that led to death. It's hard enough to lose someone you love but feeling any responsibility for the death — however real that responsibility is or isn't — is overwhelming to live with.

With suicide you never get all the answers. There's always the "what ifs" and the "whys." Without one-on-one and group grief counseling Debbie and I don't know where we'd be. We miss Luke terribly, but today when we think of him it's not as painful and does not leave us feeling like we've been kicked it the stomach like it used to feel.

The odds of dying accidentally from someone else's suicide are very rare. Unfortunately, Debbie and I have certainly experienced the ripple effects of those odds. Parts of our lives are not as carefree as they were before Luke's death, but through our loss we now have a newfound respect for life and other people's struggles. Gratefully over time, we no longer focus on Luke's death, but on Luke's life and our wonderful memories of him.

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