Yesterday was Suicide Prevention Day. Suicide. It’s not something in the forefront of public conversation, although I imagine everyone knows someone who has either tried to commit suicide or had suicidal thoughts.
And while I, like many others, can give you a list of ways I’ve been affected by suicide, there is really only one person who strands out in my mind when the topic comes up. Her name was Jane. I vaguely remember her skin tone and her hair color, but I do distinctly remember her voice.
Although she was an intelligent young woman, she was the subject of many jokes, outcasted by her peers and led what I imagine to be a very lonely life. I wouldn’t know for sure, though because I never actually held a conversation with her. And while I don’t remember being the one to make fun of her, I do remember laughing with people who mocked her because of the way she sounded in high school.
Growing up in a college town, much like Champaign-Urbana, it was fun to see old friends on campus. Many of us ate lunch together in the Union, and there were a good handful of students from my high school who also majored in English Literature.
Jane was also an English Literature major, so while I did not have classes with her, I did see her on campus often, but still didn’t talk to her. I can’t say that I had really grown an adult heart by this point, but I do remember being pulled towards Jane one day.
There are two concrete ledges located along the side of the staircase that lead students to the entrance of Heavilon Hall. While many students used the ledges to smoke, I found Jane crying on the ledge as I walked down the steps on fall day. I really, really wanted to stop to see if she was okay. I really wanted to just sit there with my hand around her shoulder. I imagined that someone else had made fun of her. Someone else had abandoned her.
Maybe she just needed a friend. I could be her friend.
Instead, I just walked past her. I’m not sure if I had to get home to my daughter or if I was late for another class or if I just felt bad for laughing with my classmates as they mocked her for all those years. Whatever the reason, I didn’t stop.
I told this story to another classmate years later, and she told me that Jane had killed herself in 2008. Jane killed herself. Jane. killed. herself.
Of course, guilt washed over me. And while I’ve given that guilt to God, sometimes I have to give it to him again and again. Because Jane killed herself.
I’ve always been someone who just wants to get to know other people. I know that no matter where they are in their lives, I can be a safe place for them. And learning that Jane killed herself made me change the way I react to someone I see sitting alone, someone who is crying or someone who is fearful. Now, no matter how uncomfortable the situation may be, I stop. And I don’t stop because I think we’ll be forever friends-although that is nice when that happens-but I stop because I am a human being and the other person is a human being, and we’ve all got thoughts and troubles and problems. And what’s even more, we all want to belong and be understood.
Some people say no thank you. Others welcome me to sit beside them or accept my invitation to join me in whatever it is that I am doing.
I know many are going to say Jane was bullied, and that’s why we need to have bullying laws and regulations. Jane was bullied. The truth is, all kids are bullied. While I do not condone teasing, making fun of someone else or leaving others out, I haven’t met one person who hasn’t been bullied at one time or another.
Bullying is what we talk about. Not suicide. Or the fact that many of us are so absorbed by social norms or shame or guilt or ourselves that we forget to make that soft connection with people who are feeling lonely or hurt. We walk past people everyday who are just looking for that connection, that quiet ear and open heart.
I can’t change what happened to Jane. I can’t change what I did by laughing or what I did not do by walking past her while she was crying. But what I’ve learned through making small connections with people is that love can also be light in that dark tunnel.
