My sister SaraLisa died on November 17, 2000 with an open phone book and a card with Philippians 4:13 by her side. She was 26. Her life was filled with challenges and trauma matched with immeasurable joy and faith in her fellow humans. I know now that the mere fact she got out of bed every morning for as long as she did to face the world was a daily miracle. I will always be astounded by the torment and adversity individuals are capable of sustaining and the resilience that carries so many through their journeys. My sister’s journey ended abruptly and so much sooner than we as her loved ones would have ever wanted, but we can’t possibly (now or ever) comprehend the magnitude of her suffering that ultimately ended her life.
In the days, months, years following her death I have become painfully aware of the violence of our language and nonverbal communication. I never realized how many times I flippantly said things like “that makes me want to kill myself” or made the gesture of pointing a gun to my head with my finger until those words and actions by others cut straight to my core. While I don’t say or do these things anymore, I know my language is still littered with words that have the potential to harm others. I try my best to be mindful of the ways in which I express myself and hope I am approachable enough to challenge, though I rarely have the courage to do the same in the reverse scenario (which may be more about my own discomfort and less about others’ approachability). I choose carefully what media I engage with and am quick to withdrawal and disappear from a social gathering when I become uncomfortable or don’t know how to regulate my own emotions enough to have a productive conversation.
So what the hell am I even trying to say and what does it remotely have to do with art? I am honestly not even that certain. Of anything anymore. The older I get and the more I learn, the less I know that I know. What I do know is that suicide has always been and continues to be a taboo subject riddled with stigma which makes for an incredibly complicated and disorienting grief journey for survivors trying to remember their loved ones. I’ve been working my way through Brené Brown’s most recent book Atlas of the Heart and I finally found a definition of grief that aligned with my experience. She highlights the work of Dr. Tashel Bordere who defines disenfranchised grief as a form of grief that “is not openly acknowledged or publicly supported through mourning practices or rituals because the experience is not valued or counted [by others] as a loss.” Wow. Let that sink in for a minute. These words spoke to the lonely and isolating experience I am all too familiar with even 22 years after her death. No wonder so many of my creative endeavors over the years have been inspired by her and my experience of loss.
Today marks an enormous milestone with the launch of 988, the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. I’ll never know what my sister was looking for in the phone book, but I have always assumed it was some kind of hope connection. The scripture she had with her at her death read “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” If only in that moment the thing had been to dial a number and find help at the other end of the line…and if it had been an easy number for someone in crisis to recall. I have mostly stopped my futile search for answers and living in the “what ifs” at this point in my life, but it doesn’t mean they don’t pop up from time to time.
May we learn to speak more freely about our struggles, lean into vulnerability, recognize all types of loss as valid, and lessen the stigma around mental health. I leave you here with two things — 1. One of my favorite images of my big sis, made all the more special when my toddler thinks it’s a photo of himself because they look so much alike — and 2. My own version of the 988 hotline image with a rose in the background. SaraLisa always loved roses and rose is one of the meanings of my own name, a symbol that will connect us for all time.
