IN THE AFTERMATH

– by Don Levy-April 2001

When our eldest son, Dan, committed suicide at the age of 30 by jumping into the Mississippi River from an isolated bridge with cement blocks tied around his waist, everyone was devastated.  My company and the people I worked with were very supportive.  Two vans full of co-workers were driven to the cemetery in Illinois and later they visited a relative’s home where our family grieved.  We received calls and cards and notes from many of my co-workers and friends in the company.  I was advised to take “all the time I needed” before returning to work.

However, in my grief and sorrow and the shock of our loss, one of my brain disorders kicked in and I entered what I now call “my deep depression.”  Totally immobilized, I couldn’t get out of bed, even to go to the washroom.  All I wanted to do was die, to be with our son and possibly learn why.  Why did he do this?  I didn’t want to see anyone or talk about our loss.

Understandably, my employer became concerned and inquired about me several times during the weeks that passed.  I couldn’t concentrate for more than two minutes at a time and my black mood affected everyone and everything.  Returning to work was the farthest thing from my mind except for the fleeting thoughts that I didn’t care about work, my family, myself, or anything!   I thought I might eventually lose my job.  I didn’t even care.  If I had any rational thinking at all, it was the fact that I was a department head, and as part of the top 200 people in a firm with 12,000 employees, I was considered a “senior” executive.  My work and my department were regarded very highly and until this point I had made “significant contributions” to the corporation.

With the help of my God, and the gift of love and understanding from my wife, family, and friends, I eventually returned to work.  The folks I worked with felt very badly for me and for our family, but most  “didn’t know what to say.”  So, I began to talk about our loss and our son’s life.  He had worked for the company for a short time and was let go.  We eventually learned that he had a dual diagnosis of depression and addictions and couldn’t perform “up to snuff.”

Eventually, my own dual diagnosis forced me into early retirement, which turned out to be a blessing.  Our search for answers to Dan’s death led to our volunteer work for NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill), Dane County SOS (Survivors of Suicide), and Compassionate Friends.  We found enough answers to our questions that we came to believe that, if we could help one person stay alive one day or even one hour longer, then our son did not “die in vain” – which is what I think he would have believed.  Through us, his death is a legacy. Something worthwhile has come from his senseless act.

SOS Newsletter Article, Mental Health Center of Dane County, Inc.