There are so many loved ones who have confided in me the suffering life has become for them. Each one of their stories is laden with gravitas and deserving of its own full attention. I’m writing this essay in part, to try to unburden myself of their suffering. I don’t want to be the person who keeps the stories of those who checked out early, I could not survive the weight of it.
Chris walked up to his edge and tumbled over. Others were worn down by its constant, unresolved haunting, finally surrendering to the lure of a permanent escape from suffering. I don’t know if many of us know how to negotiate these terrains. Adding pharmaceuticals to this dance seems to be having mixed results – keeping the darkness at bay for some, and driving others to kill themselves when their relationships to these chemical band-aids are either toxic or not properly managed.
I can’t help feeling we’ve missed the big picture on this one. Isolating the afflicted as if they had a virus and attacking their bodies instead of the presence that has invaded their lives can only offer a partial success. It does not lead to a permanent inoculation or even a strategy we can all participate in. Who will teach us all to dance at the edge of darkness and then return to the light? How will we raise the warriors to lead us to safety?
previous chapter: “A Beautiful Father” ~ next chapter: “Epilogue”