Suddenly Dying

I have a friend. We met in 1998 in P'ohang, Korea, while on deployment with Commander, Naval Forces Korea. We've kept in touch over the last 17 years, and while we weren't close, he was the last of my shipmates still on active duty and I always thought of him and his family fondly. In fact, we spoke on the phone just two weeks ago.


And then last week, a news article reported that he "died suddenly in his home." I subsequently learned that he was the victim of suicide.

I don't know any of the details of what led my friend to take his life. I don't know if he was sick, or mentally ill, or if there was some other outside influence that acted as a precipitating event. But what I do know is that he didn't die suddenly. 

After Moe died, I slowly came to realize that in most cases, people don't "die suddenly" of suicide. They die slowly, by inches, every day losing a  little more hope, a little more will, until suddenly they can't hold on anymore and see only one remaining option. Oftentimes, their family and friends have no idea about this slow death, and are powerless to stop it.

I don't know if my friend's family knew how he was struggling. I don't know if he was under a doctor's care, or if his decision blindsided them the way Moe's death blindsided us.

What I do know, what I know past bearing, is how shell-shocked they must be, how disbelieving. I know how they are alternating between wanting to crawl out of their own skins in an effort to make it not so, and numb, terrifying acceptance. I know the crushing burden of their grief, and the self-blame, horror, and exhaustion of their acceptance as they attend today's memorial service. And my heart breaks for them, and for me, all over again.

Fair winds and following seas, shipmate. I'll miss you.