Why I do what I do
04/08/16 04:34
Here we are past the mid point of the year and my beloved Rapid City is on target for a record-breaking year.
No it won’t be for the number of motorcycles at the annual Sturgis rally. It won’t be for the record warm temperatures we’ve experienced. It won’t be for the lack of rainfall. Those things might garner our attention, but we really aren’t heading for records in those departments for 2016.
If the rate we’ve established so far continues, however, 2016 will be a record-breaking year for the number of suicides in Pennington County. Summer usually sees an upturn in the number of suicides in our community, but our LOSS (Local Outreach to Survivors of Suicide) Team has been averaging a call each week for a long stretch. Yesterday we made two calls in the same day.
Although the process of responding to those who have experienced the death of a loved one to suicide requires skill and energy and can be terribly exhausting, I’m not complaining. Whatever discomfort I experience from having to get out of bed when I’d rather be sleeping or having to get my energy up to make another visit pales in comparison with the suffering of those who are wrestling with this unique and difficult type of grief.
There’s still plenty of stigma associated with suicide. Friends don’t know what words to use. The topic of suicide is often considered to be inappropriate for polite company. And, unfortunately, those who are ignorant of the nature of psychological illnesses, brain disorders, depression and other diseases sill consider suicide to be a “wrong choice” or a “failure of character” or a “moral flaw.” Those associations don’t promote understanding. They don’t help prevent suicide. They don’t ease the grief of those who are left behind.
There has, however, been some significant research and increased understanding of the dynamics of this public health epidemic. We know that suicide rates are higher in rural and isolated locations. We know that risk of suicide goes up with devastating medical diagnoses. We know that risk of suicide increases with unemployment and financial crisis. We know that suicide, especially among youth, can run in clusters or groups of related people. We know that those who are closely related to someone who has died by suicide are themselves at increased risk for suicide.
But we also know that intervention works. We know that being able to talk with someone about suicidal thoughts can provide avenues to getting help. We know that many people who have attempted suicide and continued to live say that the decision was impulsive and that a delay in the attempt probably would have prevented the attempt. We do know that helping people access appropriate medical treatment for psychological illnesses decreases suicide rates dramatically.
I’ve been asked by friends why I continue to work with the LOSS Team. I’ve been on so many suicide response calls that I can’t remember the number. Those who ask usually think about the process of making a cold call to someone who is in the depths of grief, of talking with law enforcement investigators about gristly details, and of the inconvenience of being an emergency responder. I’m not eager about any of those things.
I keep working with the LOSS team because of the hope that I gain from the process.
Helping survivors to connect with support groups, counseling, short term help and other services is helping to prevent suicides. Every response is a meeting with those who are at elevated risk for dying about suicide. Every response is an opportunity to save a life. Every person to whom I hand a card with an emergency number or a list of services available in our community has more resources than they did a few minutes ago.
But there is more. Hope comes from the response of the community. Even on what may well be the worst day of someone’s life, I see friends and neighbors who come into homes motivated by genuine care and concern. I see embraces of tears and pledges of support and love that few are enabled to witness. I am privileged to be present for the first few tentative steps of rebuilding a life after a traumatic and devastating experience. I watch the signs of new life in the face of death with every call in which I am involved.
Still, I have to be honest. I wish I would never have to go on a suicide call again. When I am on call I cringe every time my phone rings. Although I have deep respect and admiration for the investigators and coroners of the Pennington County Sheriff’s Office, I would not be disappointed to never have to call one to discuss a case again. I know that there is a sense in which community service is a process of playing with fire. I know that there is a little loss involved in every call and that those little losses build up. I know that there is a sense in which I am continually in the steps of grief. You don’t attend as many funerals as I do without being affected by the sorrow you have witnessed.
I know that I do not have the strength for the work I do all by myself. Being surrounded by a community of care and love and prayer is essential. Without weekly worship and daily prayer I would fall apart under the pressures of the particular path I have chosen for my life. The generous parents of our church who allow me to hold their precious babies and listen to their children talk about faith probably don’t realize how life-giving they are. But I couldn’t be who I am without them.
Not only are the losses cumulative, so too is the hope. Add up the number of babies that I have baptized and I come out ahead on the balance every time. Consider the confirmation of youth whose families have allowed me to witness their growing up and you’ll understand that I gain more than I give from my experience in the church.
I seriously do not know how anyone could do this work without that level of support. The first prayer of each morning and the last prayer of each night is always a prayer of gratitude. When I no longer feel that way, it will be time to stop what I am doing. Until that day, I’m willing to remain on call while dreading the next vibration of the cell phone.
No it won’t be for the number of motorcycles at the annual Sturgis rally. It won’t be for the record warm temperatures we’ve experienced. It won’t be for the lack of rainfall. Those things might garner our attention, but we really aren’t heading for records in those departments for 2016.
If the rate we’ve established so far continues, however, 2016 will be a record-breaking year for the number of suicides in Pennington County. Summer usually sees an upturn in the number of suicides in our community, but our LOSS (Local Outreach to Survivors of Suicide) Team has been averaging a call each week for a long stretch. Yesterday we made two calls in the same day.
Although the process of responding to those who have experienced the death of a loved one to suicide requires skill and energy and can be terribly exhausting, I’m not complaining. Whatever discomfort I experience from having to get out of bed when I’d rather be sleeping or having to get my energy up to make another visit pales in comparison with the suffering of those who are wrestling with this unique and difficult type of grief.
There’s still plenty of stigma associated with suicide. Friends don’t know what words to use. The topic of suicide is often considered to be inappropriate for polite company. And, unfortunately, those who are ignorant of the nature of psychological illnesses, brain disorders, depression and other diseases sill consider suicide to be a “wrong choice” or a “failure of character” or a “moral flaw.” Those associations don’t promote understanding. They don’t help prevent suicide. They don’t ease the grief of those who are left behind.
There has, however, been some significant research and increased understanding of the dynamics of this public health epidemic. We know that suicide rates are higher in rural and isolated locations. We know that risk of suicide goes up with devastating medical diagnoses. We know that risk of suicide increases with unemployment and financial crisis. We know that suicide, especially among youth, can run in clusters or groups of related people. We know that those who are closely related to someone who has died by suicide are themselves at increased risk for suicide.
But we also know that intervention works. We know that being able to talk with someone about suicidal thoughts can provide avenues to getting help. We know that many people who have attempted suicide and continued to live say that the decision was impulsive and that a delay in the attempt probably would have prevented the attempt. We do know that helping people access appropriate medical treatment for psychological illnesses decreases suicide rates dramatically.
I’ve been asked by friends why I continue to work with the LOSS Team. I’ve been on so many suicide response calls that I can’t remember the number. Those who ask usually think about the process of making a cold call to someone who is in the depths of grief, of talking with law enforcement investigators about gristly details, and of the inconvenience of being an emergency responder. I’m not eager about any of those things.
I keep working with the LOSS team because of the hope that I gain from the process.
Helping survivors to connect with support groups, counseling, short term help and other services is helping to prevent suicides. Every response is a meeting with those who are at elevated risk for dying about suicide. Every response is an opportunity to save a life. Every person to whom I hand a card with an emergency number or a list of services available in our community has more resources than they did a few minutes ago.
But there is more. Hope comes from the response of the community. Even on what may well be the worst day of someone’s life, I see friends and neighbors who come into homes motivated by genuine care and concern. I see embraces of tears and pledges of support and love that few are enabled to witness. I am privileged to be present for the first few tentative steps of rebuilding a life after a traumatic and devastating experience. I watch the signs of new life in the face of death with every call in which I am involved.
Still, I have to be honest. I wish I would never have to go on a suicide call again. When I am on call I cringe every time my phone rings. Although I have deep respect and admiration for the investigators and coroners of the Pennington County Sheriff’s Office, I would not be disappointed to never have to call one to discuss a case again. I know that there is a sense in which community service is a process of playing with fire. I know that there is a little loss involved in every call and that those little losses build up. I know that there is a sense in which I am continually in the steps of grief. You don’t attend as many funerals as I do without being affected by the sorrow you have witnessed.
I know that I do not have the strength for the work I do all by myself. Being surrounded by a community of care and love and prayer is essential. Without weekly worship and daily prayer I would fall apart under the pressures of the particular path I have chosen for my life. The generous parents of our church who allow me to hold their precious babies and listen to their children talk about faith probably don’t realize how life-giving they are. But I couldn’t be who I am without them.
Not only are the losses cumulative, so too is the hope. Add up the number of babies that I have baptized and I come out ahead on the balance every time. Consider the confirmation of youth whose families have allowed me to witness their growing up and you’ll understand that I gain more than I give from my experience in the church.
I seriously do not know how anyone could do this work without that level of support. The first prayer of each morning and the last prayer of each night is always a prayer of gratitude. When I no longer feel that way, it will be time to stop what I am doing. Until that day, I’m willing to remain on call while dreading the next vibration of the cell phone.