The Passive Ending

I think there is a point in certain people's lives where they become passively suicidal. It isn't an active thing. They're not going to buy a gun or start researching the best ways to end their lives. At the same time, they also stop really trying to do anything to really keep themselves alive. They just go through the motions.

In the last years of his life, my grandfather was passively suicidal. He had emphysema and a whole host of other breathing and lung issues. He was told, over and over again, that the worst thing he could do was keep smoking. He went through the motions of quitting. He went to the doctor appointments and the other motion of staying healthy, but all of it was just to pacify my grandmother.

He never actually stopped smoking. He would smoke out in the barn or when he was alone in the car. To hide the smell of smoking, he stopped bathing. Once a week, the night before church, he'd take a shower. The rest of the time, nothing. Best way to hide his smoking. On one hand, I'm sure he felt really desperate and lonely about this. On the other hand, I bet every time he smoked, it relieved him because he knew he was that much closer to ending this mess.

By this point, his life was really miserable. My mother had disappeared and taken my brother with her. He had been told everything he enjoyed in life, which was basically hanging around outside, working on stuff, and smoking, was going to be taken away from him. My grandmother was being a martyred, self-righteous pill about the whole thing and she was constantly talking. The idea of spending more years listening to that was probably enough to convince him it was best to just let things end.

I had a dream about a friend of mine last night. We were sitting in a car and he was telling me all his plans he had now that he'd finished his latest degree. We teased each other about this and that like we always did. I remembered being happy for him. It was good to see him be so excited for his future. It hurt all the more when I woke up and remembered he'd killed himself a few years ago. His wasn't passive and I still have a lot of questions about why it happened. I also know it isn't my business.

I'll never be one of these people who would judge someone about ending their lives, passively or otherwise. Maybe because I understand. I know there are moments when there is so much pain or so much discomfort or so much hopelessness that there doesn't seem to be any reason to go on. I get the idea of being horrified at the idea of being trapped where you are. I know a lot of people see no other way out of their situations. They don't know how to get rid of the people who won't shut up or the people who won't leave them alone. They don't know how to cope with the fact that the pain pills aren't enough or that they will never do the things that make them happy.

I understand.  That doesn't mean I won't miss you, but I do understand.