There are many social issues that we read about, see on the news, and on social media. However, most don’t have an impact on us unless they personally affect us. This is particularly true of mental health issues, which are rarely discussed in the news or social media. In fact, I did not think about them myself until that day...
As the triumphant church bells started ringing, signaling my freedom, I quickly genuflected and strutted out towards the massive arched wooden doors with the glowing red exit sign over them. Opening them, I instantly felt relieved as the smell of incense whisked away out into the brisk morning breeze that danced along the little town of Jordan, New York. It was November 27, three days after Thanksgiving. As I began my descent down the brick steps of the church, I got a little tinge of despair as I realized I would be back to school the following day, and that my thanksgiving break will have come and gone. That was quickly stifled by the emergence of my parents and brother from the church. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, I quickly waved them down to get their attention. I needed to let them know that the competition is on for today, for, I like to race their car home on foot. My parents smiled and told me that they will not go easy on me.
As I waited for them to reach the car, I planned my route through the town. I knew I would have to take some strong shortcuts if victory were to be mine. When I heard the engine start, I launched into action! Sprinting as fast as my little legs could carry me. The air was cold and straining on the lungs. Cutting along the canal, up the wall behind the local store, and behind the library, I realized this was set to be my fastest time yet. As I crossed the street a block from my house, I could see them rounding a corner, catching up behind me. I knew then that the only chance I had to win was if I ran through my neighbor's yards. Through trees and over bushes, I made my way to my house. Hitting my head on a tree branch in my backyard, I made it to the house. I had won! My parents pulling in just after me. Happy with my success, I entered the house boasting self praises to my parents as they trailed just behind me. This is when everything changed.
My older brother, Joe, was sitting inside. A depressed and almost terrified look frozenly imprinted his face. He looked to my father while uttering, “Dad, call Aunt Pam right now”, in a shaken voice.
“Why?” asked my father as he pulled out his phone, noticing four missed calls from my aunt. He began to call instantly. As my father began to talk to my aunt, Joe made his way to my mom and me.
“It's about papa, he was found dead this morning.” He said in a low tone. Shock shook me and my mother. Joe explained how he had gotten a call from our aunt because she was not able to get a hold of our father. At this point he told us something that crushed us to the deepest essence of our souls. “I am not really sure what happened, but Pam said he did it to himself. Papa killed himself” Just as those words were spoken, my dad gasped holding onto his chest, obviously receiving the news that we so unfortunately received ourselves.
“No, I don’t believe it! Why would he ever do such a thing?” Exclaimed my father, shock straining his face. My father continues to ask questions as my mother questions my brother. “I'm on my way up.” dad says hanging up the phone. Tears now beginning to stream down his face. My mother rushes over to him, embracing into a hug. Tears are now streaming all around as my brother and I stand awkwardly, eyesight distorted by tears, to confused and in shock to know what to do. My father is now shaking and distraught. My brother and I take turns hugging him as he tries to console us in return. As my father moves for his keys, mom reaches out, grasping him by the wrist. She tells him he is in no condition to drive. Mom tells Joe that he will have to drive, but he quickly apologizes saying that his wife needs to be brought to the hospital for her checkup, for, she is eight months pregnant. Then, all eyes turn to me. My mind did not even have the time to process the question before I agreed to drive.
The drive was painfully sad and quiet, neither person knowing what to say. My heart was beating faster and faster as the distance to our destination dwindled. Both hands were clenched tight to the steering wheel, so tight that you would have to pry them off when finally, you had arrived. We reached the house to the sight of police cars in the driveway, and Uncle Brian standing on the porch with his head sunken into the palm of his hands. As we got out of the car, Aunt Pam came out from the garage door to greet us. Her eyes where red from crying, which picked back up as she embraced her brother in a hug. She gave me a sympathetic smile as she came over to give me a hug, but you could tell there was no happiness to give. She gestured us to the door, and so we entered.
It was like walking into a cave, everything felt dark and grim. A place that only held happy and joyful memories felt as if it had never held laughter or smiling faces in it before. As we walked into the living room, my grandma was sitting on the sofa staring blankly at the wall as my cousin and great aunt tried to talk with her. She looked completely lost, someone that was always cracking jokes and playing with the grandchildren, sat placidly, with a face so plain you would think there was no one inside.
While my grandmother slept, grandpa had transcended the steps to the basement, loaded his shotgun, unloading one shot into his head. He did not leave a note or message of any kind to his family. The only thing left was the burden of cleaning up the basement that was flooded with his remains, a job that is left up to the family in these circumstances (at least in that area). We later found writings on the calendar in his bathroom reading, “I can't bear this anymore.” and “I miss you so much.” All were on the date that his son unexpectedly died, four years prior. My grandpa was never one to share his emotions and felt that it would only burden others.
Looking back now, I can only think how I wish he could have just walked up to my grandma, woke her up, and told her how he felt inside. People should not have to hide how they feel to protect others or because they are scared how people will look at them. If we just talked more about how real and common mental illness is in our society, maybe more people would be open to seeking help and telling loved ones how they are not okay all the time. Maybe if my grandpa told someone how he felt or believed that it was acceptable to reach out and ask for help, he would still be alive today. Finally, I realize that I should tell loved ones I love them, and spend time with them whenever I can, because even on days when the sun is shining on a beautiful holiday weekend, and you just won a close race, the worst can always happen.