Warning – this contains discussion of suicide.
‘These precious days’ is the name of a book of short stories that I decadently splashed out on from a lovely bookshop by the sea these holidays, by American author Ann Patchett. Splashed out because I rarely buy books, and if I do, they tend to be the cheaper and more easily procured e-books. I haven’t reached the title story yet, I am savouring the reading. It has been a relaxing part of my break, which came after two weeks of long working days followed by unpacking the new house (still ongoing). On my last working day, I heard of the death of another colleague.
It wasn’t the only one since Kylee’s death at the end of last year, either. My former colleague Jonette died early in the year after a very brief illness with leukemia. That was also very sad, and I will miss her. Her memorial was beautiful, and I enjoyed hearing about her life from completely different perspectives, including her daughter’s final observation that things will shine less brightly without her around, which I agree with.
This colleague also died suddenly. From what has and has not been said, I think it was suicide.
I will call him Timothy, and he was in my team for more than two years, until a year and a half ago when I moved to my current job. He was a good worker and did his job well, though his immediate manager and I struggled with some consequences of his chronic mental and physical health challenges. I also knew that his relationship had ended during that time, and I asked him once whether he had anyone to talk to if he needed to. He didn’t. One of my regrets now is that I didn’t check in on him after I left that job, to ever see how he was going. The last time our paths crossed was in a virtual meeting only about a month ago, in which he was engaged and contributing to the discussion. It occurred to me then that the change in role for him was probably overdue. There was a flicker in my mind when I though that I could send a quick message to ask how things were with him. But I didn’t.
His life was hard, and I think there were periods of loneliness. I also think it likely that he wasn’t from a well-off background. Cost of living pressures on people without financial cushioning mean that holidays can be rare: an important part of life that I look forward to. Would stronger connections with colleagues have been enough to protect against loose family bonds, feelings that you’re not like many other people, in that you don’t have a partner or child or feel any prospect of having them? Maybe not, but maybe if they are nurturing enough, and frequent and positive enough, they can be. I feel so sorry that Timothy didn’t seem to have these protective factors in his life, that it was so bleak for him, that he felt so alone.
Another book I really enjoyed recently is Helen Garner’s latest published diaries: How to End a Story: Diaries 1995-98, about the end of her marriage. The story is totally engrossing and she writes so evocatively, documenting piece by piece the chipping away of a relationship, from delight and communion to indifference to her husband and isolation from her family and friends. At one point she writes that one of her friends rang her up and said she was worried about Helen and thought she might be at risk of suicide. ‘How could she say that’, asks Helen. ‘Doesn’t she know I would never do that?’ And then later on, as her relationship reaches new depths, she drives to a cliff and wonders what it would be like.
I can think of five men I know who may often feel lonely, just as I think Timothy was. This is a catalyst for me to reach out to them.
In fact Steve was in a very dark place, and felt suicidal towards the end of January this year, but he asked for help and was also supported by all of us, his close and loving family. He received specialist care and got better, and is now fully recovered, with maintenance of his medical and psychological wellbeing, together with this unconditional love. I know that works to get through hard times. I wish I could turn back the clock and help create the supportive environment around Timothy that would get him through the dark time he must have been in.
No doubt I will find out more in the coming weeks, as I talk to my colleagues and we debrief gently with each other. The soft sand, warm sun, convivial egg painting with cousins, easter egg hunt, evenings by the fire and table tennis games with the girls this easter were all sweet, but tinged with sadness for me this year, and for many of us who feel regret and sadness at this loss.
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