It’s been two years since Samshel left us, and I can still remember what her voice sounded like. I can still hear her laugh in my mind, both her fake one and her genuine belly laugh.
When I forgot the sound of my mom’s voice, I knew that piece of her that I carried with me for so long was now gone for ever.
I’ve been running through drafts of this post in my head for a while. Is there anything worthwhile that I can say to mark this anniversary all of wish we didn’t have to have?
I kept this picture for the last two years. I don’t ever remember schools doing picture day on the FIRST DAY, but for whatever reason, this year her high school did. And they captured our sweet Samshel alive, with a smile on her lips and a future full of hopes and dreams, hours before she took her own life.
I couldn’t bring myself to order copies, or hang it on our wall. It’s almost offensive that this is the last picture we have of her.
And maybe its because I know how her story ended, that I look in this picture, to see something that I wished any one of us had seen earlier. Is that sadness in her eyes? What was she thinking? What weight did she carry on those tiny shoulders all by herself?
She’s not showing her teeth because her front two are slightly crooked, and she was forever self conscious about it. It pains me to know that, and sometimes it is so unbelievably heavy carrying her memories.
You see, her pain ended that day. Whatever burden she thought she had, whatever weighed too much for her to carry another second, she passed on to us. Suicide doesn’t end your suffering. Suicide transfers your suffering to your loved ones.
THIS is the face of depression. THIS is the face of suicide. No one knows your personal struggle, your story, unless you tell them. And while I can’t bring Samshel back, I can tell you it is okay to address your mental health. I can tell you it is okay to ask for help. I can tell you it does not make you weak to go to therapy, to take medication so that you can get out of bed in the morning, to listen to so many positive podcasts and self help books that your family groans when that’s the only thing they get to listen to in the car.
We were SO mad at her at first. Not only did she epically fuck up, but she fucked it all up for everyone else. She forever tarnished the first day of school. For our kids, for the kids whose lockers were next to her. For the kids that should’ve sat next to her in class. For her soccer coach, her friends. We all became completely helpless, because we didn’t help her.
And she messed up in a way that parents can’t fix. We can fix so many things for our children. Library fees, lost schoolbooks, overdue lunch balances, detention, tickets, fines, fender benders. We can save them by picking them up from a party they shouldn’t be at at two in the morning. But we can’t fix suicide, and that makes you feel like such a failure. Why weren’t we there? Why didn’t we SEE it?
I sighed with relief when we made it through the first year of milestones without her. I foolishly thought things would be easier, it would all be downhill. Losing a child is devastating. And every year that passes without them is worse than the previous, because you are keenly aware of what they are missing, and what they should be doing. The second year without her would’ve been her 16th birthday. We’re getting ready to round the corner on the third year, and I have to use my imagination to see what she would look like at almost 17 and starting her junior year. Instead, all I have are pictures of her, frozen at fourteen.
It isn’t fair. And it’s not our fault, even though we think sometimes it should be. You have to remember, you cannot blame yourself for the actions of others. For the longest time, I made peace with my mother’s suicide because it was what she wanted – that’s how she wanted her story to end. But the truth is no one’s story should end like this.
What we can do is normalize mental healthcare. Let’s make it just as okay to go talk to a therapist as it is it go to the doctor for a well check or a cold. We can demand fair and equal mental health treatment for everyone. We can’t settle for anything less.
Because this should not have been Samshel’s last picture. I will do it for her, for my mom, and for anyone else that felt they had no other option than to end their life.