Dawn Nissen recently survived her friend Joe's
death by suicide. In the post below, she runs through the barrage of
emotions that survivors commonly experience, and the importance of love.
Six weeks ago I received a phone call I literally did not believe. My best guy friend and surrogate big brother killed himself. I knew it couldn’t be true. I was sure there should be an investigation into the circumstances because there was simply no way he would have done this and no way I could have missed the signs. But it was true. He did do it. I was clueless. He is gone.
To comprehend the sheer implausibility of this, you would have to know a little about Joe.
Joe was something of a legend –not like Paul Bunyan or Johnny Appleseed--more like “The Most Interesting Man in the World” or Chuck Norris. Joe had the biggest personality. He was the life of the party, the brightest light, and also a giant contradiction. He was a hardcore Navy man who spent his free time rescuing animals; a self-proclaimed “guy’s guy” who played a mean jazz saxophone. Everyone loved Joe. It seemed like you were always finding some new, completely unbelievable and random thing Joe was skilled at.
And the stories. He told the tallest tales you’d ever heard, and then they always turned out to be true. That was Joe. As exciting as the legend of Joe was, the real Joe was even more loveable. Joe was the kind of guy who was always trying to find a way to help someone. He was everyone’s favorite co-worker, a devoted mentor to struggling veterans, a deeply loving man with an incalculably big heart. And above all, he was a steadfast protector of all people and creatures.
I’ve been exposed to suicide before. I’ve known suicidal friends, supported people grieving from suicide, intervened in suicidal ideation as part of my job. But this felt different. It buried me. The first few weeks were filled with questioning and doubt. Why would he do this? How did I not see it? How could someone so protective do something so harmful?
I struggled to sleep because I could not stop thinking about what I might have missed. I sent him text messages I knew he’d never read. I cried constantly. I hated how everyone seemed to be going about their business like the world hadn’t ended. It seemed at first like it would never get better.
And then, one day, I only cried every 5 minutes. The next day I slept for a few hours. The day after that I laughed. The day after that I laughed more than once, and slowly, I’m realizing the world didn’t end and there is so much life to be experienced and most importantly – love to be shared.
I’m trying to express love more, help out more without being asked, and in general, be a kinder, friendlier citizen. I’m trying to accept I didn’t have the whole picture about Joe’s warning signs, even though the warning signs were there. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I miss him beyond measure and that’s not going away, doubt still creeps in every now and again, and I still cry sometimes for no reason. But I don’t feel defeated; I feel determined to do whatever I can to provide support to people like Joe before the world loses them.
If I could talk to Joe, I’d ask him why. I hate not knowing. And if he could answer, and he told me it was because the pain was unbearable, I’d guarantee the pain was temporary and rally our friends to help him ease it. If he told me it was because he thought everyone would be better off without him, I’d passionately assure him not having him around is DEFINITELY. NOT. BETTER. FOR ANYONE. If he told me it was because he couldn’t live up to his legend, I’d swear we all loved the real, imperfect, regular Joe way better and didn’t need him to be anything but HERE. Whatever he thought his reason was that day, it wasn’t worth losing him. I know he believed that, too, most days.
Some people have told me I’ll come to a point of being angry at Joe for killing himself. I can’t imagine how I could. I’m not angry at him. I’m sad he was hurting. I’m profoundly sad he’s not here. I’m frustrated by how senseless it was to lose him when there were so many resources available and so many people who would have rallied to protect him like he’s always protected us.
There’s always going to be an irreplaceable emptiness where Joe’s big personality used to be, but I plan on overflowing the rest of the spaces with more love than ever for more people than ever. People have rallied to support me in my life – and I’ve rallied with people to support someone else. We all need it. I’d rally for anyone’s Joe. I’d rally for you. And I’m only one of the countless many who would.
Are you or someone you know in crisis? Call 1-800-273-TALK.
Six weeks ago I received a phone call I literally did not believe. My best guy friend and surrogate big brother killed himself. I knew it couldn’t be true. I was sure there should be an investigation into the circumstances because there was simply no way he would have done this and no way I could have missed the signs. But it was true. He did do it. I was clueless. He is gone.
To comprehend the sheer implausibility of this, you would have to know a little about Joe.
Joe was something of a legend –not like Paul Bunyan or Johnny Appleseed--more like “The Most Interesting Man in the World” or Chuck Norris. Joe had the biggest personality. He was the life of the party, the brightest light, and also a giant contradiction. He was a hardcore Navy man who spent his free time rescuing animals; a self-proclaimed “guy’s guy” who played a mean jazz saxophone. Everyone loved Joe. It seemed like you were always finding some new, completely unbelievable and random thing Joe was skilled at.
And the stories. He told the tallest tales you’d ever heard, and then they always turned out to be true. That was Joe. As exciting as the legend of Joe was, the real Joe was even more loveable. Joe was the kind of guy who was always trying to find a way to help someone. He was everyone’s favorite co-worker, a devoted mentor to struggling veterans, a deeply loving man with an incalculably big heart. And above all, he was a steadfast protector of all people and creatures.
I’ve been exposed to suicide before. I’ve known suicidal friends, supported people grieving from suicide, intervened in suicidal ideation as part of my job. But this felt different. It buried me. The first few weeks were filled with questioning and doubt. Why would he do this? How did I not see it? How could someone so protective do something so harmful?
I struggled to sleep because I could not stop thinking about what I might have missed. I sent him text messages I knew he’d never read. I cried constantly. I hated how everyone seemed to be going about their business like the world hadn’t ended. It seemed at first like it would never get better.
And then, one day, I only cried every 5 minutes. The next day I slept for a few hours. The day after that I laughed. The day after that I laughed more than once, and slowly, I’m realizing the world didn’t end and there is so much life to be experienced and most importantly – love to be shared.
I’m trying to express love more, help out more without being asked, and in general, be a kinder, friendlier citizen. I’m trying to accept I didn’t have the whole picture about Joe’s warning signs, even though the warning signs were there. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I miss him beyond measure and that’s not going away, doubt still creeps in every now and again, and I still cry sometimes for no reason. But I don’t feel defeated; I feel determined to do whatever I can to provide support to people like Joe before the world loses them.
If I could talk to Joe, I’d ask him why. I hate not knowing. And if he could answer, and he told me it was because the pain was unbearable, I’d guarantee the pain was temporary and rally our friends to help him ease it. If he told me it was because he thought everyone would be better off without him, I’d passionately assure him not having him around is DEFINITELY. NOT. BETTER. FOR ANYONE. If he told me it was because he couldn’t live up to his legend, I’d swear we all loved the real, imperfect, regular Joe way better and didn’t need him to be anything but HERE. Whatever he thought his reason was that day, it wasn’t worth losing him. I know he believed that, too, most days.
Some people have told me I’ll come to a point of being angry at Joe for killing himself. I can’t imagine how I could. I’m not angry at him. I’m sad he was hurting. I’m profoundly sad he’s not here. I’m frustrated by how senseless it was to lose him when there were so many resources available and so many people who would have rallied to protect him like he’s always protected us.
There’s always going to be an irreplaceable emptiness where Joe’s big personality used to be, but I plan on overflowing the rest of the spaces with more love than ever for more people than ever. People have rallied to support me in my life – and I’ve rallied with people to support someone else. We all need it. I’d rally for anyone’s Joe. I’d rally for you. And I’m only one of the countless many who would.
Are you or someone you know in crisis? Call 1-800-273-TALK.
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