iPoetry-Paper Poetry Prompt
Ghosts of the past.
Warning: This poem deals with the subject of suicide, graphically. It could result in considerable distress for many readers.
So many erased words written about those
who left no notes when they erased themselves
from our presence, from the world.
1) Randy
beat me all the time at backgammon, loved
the Genesis song about going home,
never took anything seriously, we thought.
Water is as hard as concrete if you jump
from high enough; his heart exploded.
2) Jonathan
loved his albino boa constrictor. We talked
about science fiction late into the night.
Jon duct-taped an M-80 to his throat,
lit the fuse, blew himself away.
3) Sam
swore he’d never do such a thing and hurt his parents,
but rules changed in the different universes he traveled.
He waved and smiled at the conductor as
he walked toward the speeding locomotive.
4) Pete
was smart as all get out but neurochemistry forbade
competition with genius siblings or parents. Pete
crunched Valium between his teeth to place it
underneath his tongue so it could be absorbed by
capillaries, easing his crippling anxiety.
He jumped off the same bridge as Randy.
Enough.
So many more exited abruptly without a word,
leaving black holes of pointless questions in our hearts.
All we know is that they suffered more than they told,
finally had enough, sought release.
We who tried to help them failed.
~ Wry Welwood
19th of October 2021
The people named deserve so much more than a few lines in a poem. All of them loved and were loved, were complete vital people; their ends do not define who they were. (Names have been changed, so that in addition to the passage of decades, they will not be recognized.)
Many who lose loved ones to suicide feel excruciating guilt. They could not read a mind, read between the lines, see signs that did not look like signs until they were viewed in retrospect. It is extremely rare that they are truly at fault.
The “we” in this poem refers to mental health professionals. We are supposed to do better. Most of the time we do, intervening to save lives in countless situations. Nonetheless, we have presumed to take positions of high responsibility, where mistakes can be truly catastrophic. If the lost soul is a client of the Department of Mental Health, a psychiatric postmortem is conducted, to determine how the system failed. Mistakes and oversights are identified and professionals are held accountable. It is a gut-wrenching process, yet by no means equal to the pain of the lost soul’s loved ones.
Often, though, we fail because we are not omniscient. The signs are not always clear; people at risk are not always forthcoming about the depth of their distress. This is not to blame them for our oversights, and it does not exonerate anybody. We always wish we had somehow done better; we carry the weight of those deaths for the rest of our lives.
~ Leroy W. Jones, LMHC
(Can’t always hide behind a pen name. I have worked in the field of mental health since 1981, when I graduated from Lesley University with a Master’s degree in Expressive Therapy. I have been a licensed counselor in clinics, hospitals, day programs, and crisis teams. Currently I do online counseling. For a less grueling, more positive example of my work, see Empathetic Pixels in The Lark on Medium.)
This is a link to a directory of Suicide Prevention Hotlines in different countries around the world.
This poem is in response to iPoetry’s and Paper Poetry’s prompt: The Ghost of the Past.
Inviting: Jessica Lee McMillan and Michael Hall to participate.