Saturday, November 23, 2013

Suicide: The challenge to the faithful, and faithful survivors

It was little more than 10 years ago that I lost my best friend, Ken, to suicide.

It happened one bright spring weekend. The day before, knowing he had been uncharacteristically out of touch, I tried calling him, no answer. I went over an knocked on his door, rang the door bell. Left phone messages. Emails.


He loved action movies. Let's go out and see a flick, I offered. You know. Escape life's stresses and worries for an afternoon. Laugh, like we always did. Talk, sometimes about deep things, other times just memories.

Ken had some great stories. Stories so great, you would wonder if they were apocryphal . . . until you learned from someone else that, "Yes, he did take on four guys in a park and sent them running." Or, "Yes, he did break a sack of cement over the head of an obnoxious boss once."

He loved practical jokes. Me, too. We victimized each other from time to time, and he always bellowed that deep laugh of his, and grinned widely . . . even as his eyes told you, "You're next, bud."

He was a big man. Big tall, 6-foot-4, and big physically, a man mountain. When he laughed, people noticed.

But there was no answer from Ken that March day in 2003. Finally, the fire department arrived. They found him in his bedroom, dead, from a massive overdose of over-the-counter sleeping medications.

He had gone to several stores to get enough; the empty bags and cartons and receipts were nearby.
In the days and weeks that followed his funeral, we learned of his dark, abusive side. It was a hidden horror his family had endured.

Those times came in cycles, at first rare, but as his mental state deteriorated, more frequent. I remain convinced to this day, that he finally decided to end it, at least in part to protect his family -- before one of his black moods ended in bloodshed.

Nothing, of course, is ever so clearly defined. Some suicides are plain acts of selfishness, a desire to punish from the grave. Others come at the precipice of hopelessness, grief. Yet others are unexplainable, brought on by psychotic breaks with reality, desperation to end the hell of perception when reality flees and gives way to madness. And some are all these things, and more.

In my current role as a public safety reporter, hardly a week goes by where there is not a murder-suicide. The most recent was an elderly couple. She was in terminal, failing and painful health; he wanted her pain to end, and his own.

That almost seems understandable. My own parents, one in the late stages of Alzheimer's, the other enduring painful arthritis and failing eyesight, might be such a couple but for their enduring love for each other and trust in God. Faith sustains them, helps them endure, and trust that their time will come when it supposed to -- by His hand, not their own.

To this day, I am convinced Ken could have been helped. But in the sad equation of his life, he refused to do the therapy, take the drugs, and he had lost faith. Perhaps he was not capable, at that point, of reaching out for help. I don't know; and I will not judge.

But I still miss my friend.

This year, suicide also touched the life of internationally known pastor Rick Warren, of the Saddleback Church and "Purpose Driven Life" fame. His youngest son took his own life.
How this man of faith, along with his remaining family are dealing with this at Thanksgiving time is poignant, and faith- and life-affirming. In a piece requested by Time Magazine, we wrote in part:

"This year became the worst year of my life when my youngest son, who’d struggled since childhood with mental illness, took his own life. How am I supposed be thankful this Thanksgiving? When your heart’s been ripped apart, you feel numb, not grateful.

"And yet the Bible tells us "Give thanks IN all circumstances . . . ." The key is the word “in.” God doesn’t expect me to be thankful FOR all circumstances, but IN all circumstances."

Warren goes on with this list what he is thankful for this season. Here are some of them:

I’m thankful that, even though I don’t have all the answers, God does. In tragedy we seek explanations, but explanations never comfort. It is God’s presence that eases our pain.
 
I’m thankful for the hope of heaven. I won’t have to live with pain forever. In heaven, there are no broken relationships, broken minds, broken bodies, broken dreams, or broken promises.
 
I’m thankful for my church family.  ... in our darkest hour as a family, they gave all that love back in a split-second, the moment Kay and I returned to speak after a 16-week grief sabbatical.  We can handle anything with prayers and support like that.

I’m thankful that God can bring good even out of the bad in my life, when I give him the pieces. It’s his specialty. God loves to turn crucifixions into resurrections, and then benefit the whole world. God never wastes a hurt if we give it to him."

To read Pastor Warren's article in full, click on this link.

Friday, November 15, 2013

NO Christmas trees before Thanksgiving, you holiday-ruining turkeys!

There really should be a law about playing Christmas songs before Thanksgiving, at least.

The commercialism and forced yuletide cheer is annoying enough without bombarding us with Saccharin-sweet ditties that were stale and headache-inducing when our grandparents were young, for crying out loud.

How many times, people, can you really listen to Alvin the Chipmunks sing about Hula Hoops and the holidays?

Even before Halloween, the big box stores were stocking the shelves with fake trees, ornaments and all the other Christmas detritus.

Let us progress, as the holiday deities intended, to Thanksgiving and then, if you must, start flocking the pine and/or plastic trees and caroling, or braving the manic aisles of the toy stores, etc.

So, it should be no surprise at all that I am a Facebook fan of Playing Christmas music BEFORE Thanksgiving is ANNOYING!
That's where the awesome cartoons come from.

Finally, a place to give vent to my primordial Scrooge.

Some wisdom from the site:

"Everytime a Christmas Tree is lit before Thanksgiving, a baby reindeer is drowned by an angry elf."




Monday, November 11, 2013

Veterans Day: To generations dead, crippled and haunted by war, thank you


Veterans Day.

In what has been a melancholy autumn for me, today is a time of reflection and perspective.

To take the second point, first: My disappointments and valley experiences with surviving several rounds of layoffs this year at work, the transitions in what had been a steady freelance writing contracting gig, and most of all the denouement of family relationships . . . all those things seem rather small compared to the sacrifices made by our soldiers, airmen and sailors.
From the American Revolution through the Civil War, World Wars I and II, to Vietnam and, I presume, even today, Mimses have served in uniform. 
 
Three Mimses are on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington, D.C., cousins, black and white, who died in combat on the ground and in the air.

Air Force Capt. George Mims, of Manning, S.C., was shot down over North Vietnam in December 1965, never to be heard from again, an MIA eventually declared dead in 1973. His body was never recovered.

Third-class Petty Officer Felton Mims, a Texan, drowned in Go Cong Province, while serving on a Navy river patrol boat in March 1969. (That's him in the photo above, getting a haircut from a crewmate).

Army PFC Kenneth Mims, from Alabama, died when stepped on a land mine as he and other members of the B Company, 1st Battalion, 501st Infantry, 101st Airborne Division patrolled near Thua Thien in April 1971.

Four of my uncles served and survived, albeit with nightmares, the crucible that was World War II in the Pacific.

The Civil War killed relatives by the dozens, North and South, white and black. It directly affected my line of the family, with my great-grandfather, wounded severely in Shiloh, was left crippled and dependent on morphine before he died, leaving my 7-year-old grandfather and his mother destitute.

His poverty and a brutal upbringing by an older brother haunted him, and by extension my own father, who struggled with a distant, demanding relationship with his Dad.

To a far lesser extent, I experienced some of the same in my early years, before a mild heart attack left my dad more engaged -- just in time for my critical teen years.
Two Mimses fought the British, another fought for them, in the Revolution.

Now, the reflection part? Somehow, today at least, I feel far less sorry for myself.

And on this day I am quietly, thoughtfully grateful to those who fought, and sometimes died for their principles and country.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Obamacare: Mr. President, 'fess up to failure. Scrap it, start over -- do it right

This is painful for me. I am a supporter of the concept of universal, single-payer health insurance.

Along with millions of other Americans, I had hoped Obamacare would at least go some way toward what we need, but it has turned out to be an only slightly mitigated disaster. 



The President's efforts to wiggle out of his promises with an Orwellian revision of the historical, and multiplied record of his blown off promises is maddening. 

Scrap it, start over and do it right.

Fifty-two million -- roughly a fifth of us -- stand to lose our insurance coverage, regardless of the President's repeated, ad infinitum, promise that we can keep our plans, keep our doctors.

Read about it here: http://www.mcclatchydc.com/2013/11/07/207909/analysis-tens-of-millions-could.html

Monday, November 4, 2013

Obama's 'most transparent' administration looking a lot like Big Brother

Forget Obamacare.

Well-intentioned, but flawed, likely fatally, in its execution, only the future will tell what becomes of the dream of universal health care in the United States.


It wasn't Obamacare that won my vote for our first African-American president in 2008.

Like millions of Americans, 
I bought the "Change" message, especially his promise to give us "the most transparent" presidency and White House in history.

Regardless whether you seen NSA secrets-leaker Edward Snowden as a heroic whistleblower or a traitor (and there are points for both views), his revelations about the mindboggling scope and privacy-raping practices of the NSA's worldwide cellphone, email and Internet monitoring have put the lie to the President's promise.

And they are only the tip of the iceberg. The Obama Administration may prove to be not only NOT the "most transparent," but one of the most secretive and oppressive of the electorate's right to know what it's elected leaders and their bureaucrats are up to.

The Society of Professional Journalists' periodical, Quill -- hardly a conservative rag by any definition -- explores the soul-sickening extent of the Obama Administration's politics of opacity. One nugget: This White House has used the 1917 Espionage Act seven times, more than any other administration, to gag or intimidate would-be government whistleblowers.

Read it for yourself and then ask: Does Big Brother look a lot like a president who promised he and his would do nothing in the dark?

Here's the link to the article "There Goes the Sun."