death and DYINGMourn<strong>in</strong>g MyDaughterBy Janice Rub<strong>in</strong>photo by Paul Davis<strong>The</strong> even<strong>in</strong>g I was scheduled to facilitate our Sangha sitt<strong>in</strong>g, Ilearned that my younger daughter had committed suicide. I hadplanned to talk about cultivat<strong>in</strong>g joy, read from Thich Nhat Hanh’s20 th anniversary edition of Breathe, You Are Alive!, and do aguided meditation from <strong>The</strong> Bloom<strong>in</strong>g of a Lotus on the joy ofmeditation as nourishment, and I did. It was my way of beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>gthe mourn<strong>in</strong>g process.I am the convener of the Practice Community at Frankl<strong>in</strong>Lakes, and I have felt wonder<strong>full</strong>y supported by my Sangha. WhenI f<strong>in</strong>ally acknowledged the reality and f<strong>in</strong>ality of my daughter’sact, I was able to tell my sisters and brothers <strong>in</strong> the practice that Iwas hav<strong>in</strong>g a difficult time deal<strong>in</strong>g with her death and I knew theyunderstood. Shar<strong>in</strong>g and writ<strong>in</strong>g about my experience has freedothers <strong>in</strong> our community to talk about their life-alter<strong>in</strong>g experienceswith suicide. One spoke of the effect of her mother’s suicideon her when she was five years old. Another told of her daughter’sseveral unsuccessful attempts to end her life.I was no stranger to loss and abandonment. When I was five,the only person who I thought loved me unconditionally, my favoriteuncle, abandoned me. My mother died when I was <strong>in</strong> my teens,and I was left with an <strong>in</strong>different father who had little <strong>in</strong>terest <strong>in</strong>me, or later <strong>in</strong> my children, his only grandchildren. More recently,I felt strongly the loss of the person who established our Sanghaten years ago, and with whom I was co-leader the past few years,when he left the area. But surviv<strong>in</strong>g the death of a child by suicideis like noth<strong>in</strong>g I had ever experienced and I’m not sure I will beable to come to terms with it dur<strong>in</strong>g my lifetime.At this time, I tell people my consolation lies <strong>in</strong> the fact thatmy daughter is no longer suffer<strong>in</strong>g the excruciat<strong>in</strong>g feel<strong>in</strong>gs ofunworth<strong>in</strong>ess engendered by the extremes of bipolarity. I also tellthem it is comfort<strong>in</strong>g to know that because of her generosity, thelives of many people have been saved or extended because theyreceived her organs and t<strong>issue</strong>s. I say these th<strong>in</strong>gs, but I don’t feelconsoled or comforted.I speak to her dear husband regularly—he needs a compassionate,nonjudgmental listener—and I learn more and more aboutthe suffer<strong>in</strong>g she experienced and visited on others. I sometimescry for days after we talk, but I will be there for him as long ashe needs me, as I would have been for my daughter, if she had letme.Every day a dozen th<strong>in</strong>gs br<strong>in</strong>g her to m<strong>in</strong>d. I see her as herhusband found her when he came home from work—<strong>in</strong> the driver’sseat of her locked car <strong>in</strong> the garage with a hose hooked up to theexhaust and taped <strong>in</strong> the passenger w<strong>in</strong>dow—and I cry.People remark how strong I am because I did not miss one sitof our Sangha or any of the classes I teach, and because I have notcollapsed and given up on life. I do not feel strong. I feel <strong>in</strong>crediblyweak and vulnerable, but I believe that without my Sangha tosusta<strong>in</strong> me I would not be <strong>in</strong> as strong a position as I am.I know that over time I will cont<strong>in</strong>ue to feel better able to dealwith my grief; that by cont<strong>in</strong>u<strong>in</strong>g to practice water<strong>in</strong>g the seedsof the good memories of my daughter, I will feel less sad when Ith<strong>in</strong>k of her; and that, as <strong>in</strong> the past, I will f<strong>in</strong>d solace <strong>in</strong> my ownisland as I cont<strong>in</strong>ue to be faithful to my practice. I know that sheis part of the matter of the universe and that I have only to look<strong>in</strong>to my hand to always f<strong>in</strong>d her. Until these thoughts becomethe feel<strong>in</strong>gs of my heart, my loss will be real and I will miss herevery day.Janice Rub<strong>in</strong> is theconvener of the PracticeCommunity at Frankl<strong>in</strong>Lakes. She is a formerjournalist and the authorof Look<strong>in</strong>g Back, Mov<strong>in</strong>gOn: Memoir as Prolog,and Four Lives: Despitethe Odds.40 W<strong>in</strong>ter/Spr<strong>in</strong>g 2010
death and DYINGDiamondLifeLos<strong>in</strong>g my Brother <strong>in</strong> aNew York State of M<strong>in</strong>dBy Nate Metzkerphoto by Cor<strong>in</strong>a BeneschMMy girlfriend, Cameron, and I moved to New YorkCity <strong>in</strong> 2005 with great expectations for her careeras an educator and my career as a musician andnovelist. My girlfriend’s career soon exceeded expectations.I, on the other hand, did not fare as well.By the end of six months, I’d run out of sav<strong>in</strong>gs andfound it difficult to locate a job that gave me time formy art.Optimism carried me for a while, but eventually,my optimism began to wear off: gigs were hard tocome by, sell<strong>in</strong>g music was next to impossible, anddepression set <strong>in</strong>. I was attend<strong>in</strong>g Sangha meet<strong>in</strong>gs <strong>in</strong>the city, which I enjoyed, but I was not able to let goof my attachments to my version of success.I had been at Deer Park Monastery the day itopened, and had spent a lot of time there—sometimesmonths without leav<strong>in</strong>g—and now I returned to themonastery, th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g I could get my head together. AndI did. And it was wonderful. But when I returned tothe city, I began a slow descent back <strong>in</strong>to depression.I started to th<strong>in</strong>k I needed to get back to the monasteryaga<strong>in</strong>, but then realized: No, Nate, you need todeepen your practice where you live. I vowed that Iwould go back to Deer Park only when I had beenable to become peaceful and happy <strong>in</strong> New York City.the M<strong>in</strong>dfulness <strong>Bell</strong> 41
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