The wind wasn't the only thing that differed the two. This past weekend over two thousand people gathered outside of the Boston City Hall for a purpose. Now, these days, a sizable gathering isn't really that unusual.
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| My amazing husband and I, shortly after arriving at the walk. Not quite drenched yet. |
We again found ourselves participating in a group. This time however was not only to support a cause, but the others who braved the rain as well.
For the past few months I've been seeing a repeated message about the upcoming "Out of the Darkness Walk, sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I made note of the date; the eight month anniversary of my mom's suicide.
Every time I saw the event I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. I really wasn't sure what it all entailed. I've done races before, anywhere from a 5k to a half marathon, and I knew how those functioned (register, stretch, line up, make sure the playlist is ready to go, run, try not to die, run some more, cross a finish line, get a medal, and go home), but this was a different thing altogether.
Would I have to talk to anyone? Was I expected to share my story? Was I ready to do so in a group of strangers? I already sometimes feel like I have a giant badge plastered on me saying "my mom killed herself, how's your day?" when I'm around people I know, and find myself dreading interactions with strangers who could possibly venture near the subject, but in this setting that dread of possible question would be increased tenfold because, well, we're all there because suicide is part of our lives.
Not that I didn't want to or don't want to discuss the subject, as that's what I honestly believe is a giant contributor to the insane numbers of those who choose suicide, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to allow myself to be that vulnerable. Something I work on on nearly a daily basis.
Another reason I hesitate to participate was the name of the organization. Specifically one word in the name- prevention.
I'm part of a group on Facebook that is for those who had a loved one take their own life, and it's a common debate whether suicide is preventable or not. I'll find myself scrolling, just to see what everyone else's views are, and am always sickened how much attacking can happen. Even within a support group! Key word- support. It's because of that that I have yet to contribute to the discussion, because I just can't. My personal beliefs have always been along the same line regarding suicide, but they are pretty staunchly set that no, I don't believe it is 100% preventable. Just like everything else in this world, nothing can be. You may disagree, and you are welcome to. That's the cool thing about opinions; it's totally fine to have our own :)
But anyway, because of those discussions and the word in the title of AFSP, I was reticent at first. But, instead of just declaring I wouldn't support a group like that because I thought clearly we didn't feel the same way, I decided to click on the link provided and learn more about the organization. Well, clearly the rest is history, because otherwise I wouldn't be writing this post. However. I encourage you to visit and learn more about AFSP as well. I even made it easy and linked it for you!
Anyway, month or so goes by of seeing those posts. Then it's a week out. I continued to hem and haw, but the fact it landed on the anniversary... well, I took that as a sign I should do it. I registered, made my fundraising page,* and started preparing. I couldn't believe it, but I was actually looking forward to it now.
So, the original date comes and goes (thank you Nor' Easter) and we come to the rescheduled date. I had surpassed the small fundraising goal I'd set, and had reframed the experience to be not a harrowing one, but one to possibly help on the road toward accepting my new normal. I was ready. Saturday morning we get up, grab an umbrella and raincoats, took the T into the city, and followed the sound of blaring music to a set up of tents and lots of people. Wait a second, blaring music? At an event based around suicide? What the actual fuck was this?
Suddenly I felt like I had maybe made a wrong choice. I wasn't ready to "celebrate" or be overly happy or optimistic. Hell, I was nearly in tears while sitting on the train because things started to become a tad overwhelming. What the hell had I gotten us in to?
But as we found our way through the crowd of other slightly soggy attendees and to the line for registration I was able to take in what was really happening.
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| Dry refuge found under the snack tent! |
Yes, there was music. A great playlist of songs that, while upbeat, were all along the same lines of message- support, remembering, and overall good vibes. Completely different than the Jock Jams on repeat at races I've attended.
But the music was simply providing a nice background to the setting. Otherwise, we'd be a bunch of half soaking wet strangers, huddled in small groups under umbrellas or tents, waiting for the announcement for us to all walk the same way. Now, I know this is about suicide, but that'd be depressing even compared to a Dickens novel.
After the signing in line we made our way to the honor bead table. This was the second time that morning I was thinking as hard as I could "please please please don't start sobbing." The beads, while not required, indicate who you knew that committed suicide. Each color indicated a different relationship. We grabbed blue and gold; blue = support the cause, gold = lost a parent. The two gentlemen behind the table were restocking the beads, but they made a point to acknowledge everyone who came up to grab a strand. We shared a smirk and a head nod, as I noticed one of them was also wearing gold.
So we checked in, donned our beads, found our way to a warm cup of coffee, and were ready to walk.
But this post is crazy long, so I'm going to split this in two and share the rest in another post. However, if you would like to learn more about AFSP, please visit www.afsp.org
