Remembering | Suicide Prevention & Crisis Service of Tompkins County

If You Could Hear Me

SPCS Admin — Wed, 30 Sep 2020 23:12:03 +0000

For Joshua

I know you can’t hear me,
but if you could,
I’d tell you about my day.
I played with our cousin,
built a snowman,
and sledded down the stairs.
It reminded me of the hour you played shark
with him, laughing together.
I slept upstairs, our uncle across the hall,
and remembered the times I’d go to the basement,
hoping to catch you playing
“Behind Blue Eyes” on the guitar.

If you could hear me,
though I know you can’t,
I’d tell you about my trip to our grandfather’s.
I finally finished that YouTube series you showed me.
I’m sorry I couldn’t watch it with you,
but it was still funny.
I see why you liked it.
I wish we could’ve played Rock Band together afterward.

If you were here,
though I know you’re not,
I’d show you the new sweater I got for Christmas.
Dad said it was meant for you,
but I guess it’s mine now.
It has Rick on it, laughing crazily.
It makes me picture all the late nights,
watching Rick and Morty go on endless sci-fi adventures.
You always liked that.

Maybe you can hear me,
probably not,
but even if you can’t,
I want to tell you
I miss you every day.
I wake up,
and I have to remind myself you’re gone—
I have to resist the urge to text you, brother unit,
and you to text back, sister unit,
and to tell you about a trip I want to take with you—
because there will be no more trips with you.

If you had seen me,
which I know you didn’t,
you would’ve seen me collapse in the hospital.
You would’ve seen me break down at calling hours.
You would’ve seen me deliver my eulogy without breaking,
and you would’ve seen Dad climb up the stage
and speak for five minutes without crying.
I still don’t know how he did it.

If you could read this,
though I know you can’t,
you’re probably wondering how Dad’s doing.
Short answer: not great.
He cried over your body, dude.
He practically knocked it over.
He hugged Mom for the first time in years.
Stepmother stood there,
making it about her yet again.
I hate her for it,
but I suppose it must’ve been hard for her,
finding you in the garage.
I wonder,
was it her you chose to find you?

I know you can’t answer,
but I still want to ask.
How did you learn to tie the rope so well
that it wouldn’t break from your weight?
Did you ever doubt?
Did you stand on that chair, asking,
Do I really want to do this?
Why did you answer yes?

I wish you’d said no,
but you didn’t.
So now, I’m here.
And you’re not.
It’s not fair,
me having to be the strong one between the two of us.
But I suppose, since you were so selfless,
you’re allowed to be selfish once.

If you chose to stay,
which I know you didn’t,
I would’ve hugged you,
told you again how much I loved you.
I know I said it a lot.
I know you said it a lot.
When you told me you valued our relationship,
it was better than any gift I’d ever received.
You’ve given me so much,
and I wish I could’ve given you more.

If you could see me,
though I know you can’t,
you’d see me cry for hours in my room,
feeling like I can’t live without you.
There are times I dream about you,
dream that you’re alive.
My sweater is forever on your body,
cut up the middle by the paramedics,
and the bruises are forever on your neck.
On those days,
when I wake up to reality,
I want to follow you
all the way to the abyss,
to tie the knot around my own neck
and let it all fade away.

Even if you’re not really gone,
it feels like you are.
I don’t know where you are now,
big little brother,
but if you can hear me,
I love you,
and I miss you,
and I wish you only the best.

By JW

More of Remembering: Stories of Suicide Loss

A Garden Memorial

SPCS Admin — Thu, 24 Sep 2020 02:20:06 +0000

Robyn and Randy Sundquist 1963

These are my memorial gardens for my beloved brother who took his life on May 21st, 2018.

Robyn Sundquist

Losing a Child

SPCS Admin — Tue, 15 Sep 2020 13:19:46 +0000

In facilitating healing groups for women who have lost children, some to suicide, a few things have stood out to me. In addition to the terrible and traumatic suffering these women experience from loss, many of these courageous women are dealing with feelings of guilt.

I find it so incredibly sad that they feel responsible and they think they could have done something to prevent the suicide.

The other is that, almost to a woman, each has expressed the profound sensitivity in the character of their loved one. They were poets, musicians, and exhibited other extreme forms of sensitivity throughout their lives.

Anonymous

Grande Jette

SPCS Admin — Mon, 14 Sep 2020 14:00:36 +0000

I first met Iris when I was five or six. Iris was originally from Romania and had a thick accent, which amused me. She was a dear friend of both of my parents and visited us frequently. Iris always celebrated birthdays and holidays with us. Her exaggerated way of doing anything and everything always made my little brother John, my parents and me laugh.

When I was around ten, the Mumsey told me that Iris had such a terrible case of Polio as a young child that she could barely walk. But a clever doctor advised her parents to give Iris ballet lessons to strengthen her damaged legs. Iris loved the dance lessons so much, she not only completely recovered, but she became famous as a ballerina and then as a modern dancer and choreographer, in Europe before World War II broke out.

During the war, Iris joined the underground to help Jews escape, and became famous for being particularly brave and willing to risk her life. My Mumsey learned about her daring escapades from an old newspaper article that Iris had saved.

Many years later, after I had moved away from Ithaca, and my first marriage at the age of eighteen to Leo had faltered and ended, I returned to Ithaca with my toddler son Storn. We had some amusing times with Iris at my Mumsey’s house. But, a few weeks after I last saw Iris, just as we were eating dinner, the Mumsey called me with horrendous news! A few hours earlier that day, a number of Cornell University students had seen our beloved Iris leap to her death. In my mind, I could see Iris sucking in her breath, posing dramatically on the edge of the rail, and leaping gracefully….

My teary Mumsey explained that Iris had been depressed because she was almost sixty and no longer felt strong enough to teach dance, and she had no other way to earn money. The Mumsey said that she had been so concerned about Iris’s mental state, that just the day before Iris killed herself, she had talked Iris into temporarily going to Willard – a mental hospital not far from Ithaca – to get some help. Iris had agreed to do it and asked the Mumsey to pick her up at 9:00 the next morning.

However, at 9:00 AM when the Mumsey arrived at Iris’s apartment, the police were already there. They told her they had found a suicide note on the door addressed to my Mumsey. I could tell that my Mumsey did not want to talk about what it said, so I didn’t press her, and I never did find out exactly what it said. When the Mumsey told me about Iris’s suicide, I was so shocked it had taken some time for the news to really sink in and make me incredibly sad.

Story and Art by Annie Campbell

A Chair for Lori

SPCS Admin — Thu, 10 Sep 2020 14:37:29 +0000

The last time I spoke with my friend Lori Zahara Figelman, she talked about her plans to counsel young women; the next time I saw her, a few days later,
she was walking to her death. Seventeen years later, when asked to contribute to “Empty Chairs”, the image of this chair came to mind: a bone white, straight-backed kitchen chair with a vine climbing up to God.

Jews generally keep their memorials simple and unadorned, which is probably why I chose to make the chair out of pine, the traditional material for coffins, and why I wanted to turn the chair into a tree of life. The paint is made from milk; the pothos recalls a plant cutting I took from Lori’s room; the quote comes from her diary; and the Star of David was found on the street a few years after her death.

Made with: pine chair, pothos plant, milk, tempera, and silver in 2009.

Kenny Berkowitz

See more of Remembering: Stories of Suicide Loss

Tell Me Why

SPCS Admin — Wed, 09 Sep 2020 13:45:24 +0000

All gone
All done
If I could
Pull you back
If I could
Go back
In time

Or give you
Years of my life
I would
To save you
From ending your life

I would

You slipped away
Unseen
Unheard
Nobody knew
Why

Please forgive me

Lisa M. Sundquist

Preventing Tragedy

SPCS Admin — Tue, 08 Sep 2020 13:39:01 +0000

As the newly elected President of the SPCS Board of Directors, I feel honored and privileged to be a small part of this awesome community organization. As a nurse and paramedic for over 40 years, I have had to care for many patients and families dealing and living with suicide events … all those situations were characterized by some degree of pain, fear, despair, helplessness, and hopelessness. Some of those situations involved dear friends, co-workers, and community members well-known to me. Always, the question for me was “why” and what would have helped to prevent this tragedy?

Suicide Prevention and Crisis Service represents the “greater good” in our society; it can be, and often is, part of that prevention answer. Recently, my granddaughter was driving out of state when she received word that a friend was missing … a friend that she thought might be at risk for contemplating suicide. I reached out to the Crisisline to ask for suggestions to help my granddaughter and the missing person’s family. Although the crisis was not mine in an immediate sense, the warm, caring, and compassionate listening on the other end of the line was reassuring and comforting … and that is, and has always been, the mission that SPCS has carried out in our community since 1969.

Beth Harrington

Caitlin at the Window

SPCS Admin — Fri, 04 Sep 2020 13:00:56 +0000

Joe Crookston is a beloved singer-songwriter who lives in Ithaca, NY. He wrote this song after losing a friend to suicide but also with Dylan Thomas in mind.

http://ithacacrisis.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Caitlin-JC-small.mp4

Read more posts for Remembering:Stories of Suicide Loss here.

Remembering Sue Knight

SPCS Admin — Wed, 02 Sep 2020 13:00:36 +0000

Sue Knight was my teammate on the Cornell Polo Team in the 80s. She was a fantastic horsewoman and one of my closest friends. In January of 2013, Sue died by suicide.

She suffered from a terrible illness. The illness is called depression. Many of her friends did not even know that Sue was ill. She hid it, wanting to always appear as a strong and fearless polo player. How can a polo player get the blues like that? They are active, busy, pursuing a sport that they love and do well in, and look to be the picture of health and fitness. But, it happened. It happens.

Our polo club wanted to do something both as a tribute to Sue, and to help others who might be suffering silently as she was.

Starting in 2013, and every year since save one, we teamed up with Suicide Prevention & Crisis Service of Tompkins County, the Central NY Polo Club, and the Cornell Polo Club to host a benefit polo game to remember Sue and spread the word.

Ann Michel

Read more posts for Remembering:Stories of Suicide Loss here.

Two Empty Chairs and a Conversation

SPCS Admin — Fri, 14 Aug 2020 19:31:38 +0000

I’m not afraid to admit that mental health diagnosis run in the family. I was never around when my grandmother lost three of her four brothers and her father to suicide.

I took this picture as a memory of a time with my mother. And a conversation. A friend of mine lost her father to suicide and she remembered the times her family spent together just sitting and talking. We had lost our parents at roughly the same age. I was 30 when my mother died of a complication to her heart; the same age when my friend lost her father to suicide. We talked about how our parents were our support and how there’s that void, that it’s empty without them around. So it’s two empty chairs and a conversation.

Brandon Douglas

Read more posts for Remembering:Stories of Suicide Loss here.