Some years ago, as a pastor, I was called upon to give Ann a Christian burial.
I'd gotten to know her only months before. So I needed to talk to friends and family, to get a picture of her life.
Ann, you see, had committed suicide.
This is Ann's story, and what she taught me.
Ann's father deserted her when she was 3. Her mother filled his void with a number of temporary replacements. But they always saw Ann as "under foot". She was discarded. Passed around family members, shuffled from town to town, school to school. She made acquaintances. No friends. Not enough stability.
So at 17, she created her own stability. She latched onto the first man who'd give her attention. She married young, and poorly.
He abandoned her eventually, with four kids, no job, no home, no money. Her dreams withered. She survived as best she could. Bad jobs, followed by worse ones. Abusive boyfriends. Alcohol and drugs masked her pain.
When the last domino dropped, she was just 32, a mother of 5, unemployed, living off neighbors. One day, she awoke from a drunken slumber, only to find her youngest drowned in the next door neighbor's pool.
She lost the kids to the state. And came to my attention through a friend at DCS. "She needs a friend," they said.
Before the funeral, she told me she'd been abandoned by God. I assured her God never abandons us. God loves Ann. He knows her pain. She isn't alone.
After the funeral, I took her out to eat. She needed food. She wouldn't eat. She kept clutching the napkin and sobbing, "There's no reason to live. None at all."
Later that weekend, she took her life.
Life isn't perfect. Sometimes despair is so overwhelming, so engrossing, we're not left with choices. None. No choice at all. The pain is so intense, so isolating, so unforgiving.
But I had a choice. I had to make it, too. What would I say?
Now, for most of us, this seems clear-cut enough. She committed suicide. That's a seemingly selfish choice, that cuts off her access to God's grace. There's nothing more to say.
But I wasn't so certain. You see, Ann's death posed a problem. How would the God who loves her so much -- more that I did, even! -- abandon her in her darkest hour? He'd been there every night she cried herself to sleep, every day she endured the pain of lovelessness, every loss in her life. Why would this loss of hope be too much?
With Ann, I found myself chosing words of grace about God's kindness and love, even in the darkest moments, about God's patient love, about the hope of Jesus' resurrection. I can't say the state of her soul, but I can say a lot about God that leaves me more hopeful than the demons that devoured her life.
News of Robin William's apparent suicide, possibly due to depression, have folks revisiting what we think about depression and suicide.
The ancients called it melancholia -- that spiritual state of discomfort with the world, with our very selves, that can be a source of wisdom. But with that wisdom often comes pain. So melancholia needs amicitia (friendship) to keep it in check. To harness the creative possibilities, we can't go it alone.
And it's here that modern depression fails us.
People have called his act "selfish", a "choice" that makes no sense amidst all his successes.
As a pastor I've learnt a few things about depression and suicide that made responding with grace at Ann's funeral possible. Here are those lessons.
1. Depression is an illness.
Just like a stomach bug isn't the same as pneumonia, "feeling down" isn't the same as depression. Depression is a clinical condition. Not everyone gets it.
Dismissing the genuine concerns of someone clinically depressed by saying they should "just get over it", is much like comparing having your leg amputated to a paper cut. Depression is debilitating. It eats at your whole life, sucking all the joy and vitality you know. It's a lot like a spiritual cancer.
2. Depression doesn't discriminate.
Depression, as an illness, doesn't take into account who you are, where you work, who your family might be. It hits for varieties of reasons, but anyone is susceptible. Granted, some of us, like Ann, are exposed to more risk factors, but we can't say that Robin Williams had so much going for him, that this choice to end his suffering was controllable. Maybe it wasn't.
3. Depression isn't logical.
It's not like you can make a list of pros and cons, when you're depressed, to engage in a cost-benefit analysis. Someone with depression isn't thinking normally, because they're wrapped up in so much pain. Their self-worth is so low. Their outlook is so bleak. Their pain so engrossing, especially on others' lives. They often see suicide as an act of gratitude.
We think of suicide like it's the "easy way out". Like there's a choice to be made. Again, they're not logical. From a logical perspective, life seems the better choice. But insisting they realize this is like asking someone with a broken leg to walk normally.
A brilliant and tortured soul ended his life yesterday. But that's hardly reason to say it was a selfish choice, that he could have chosen differently. And it's a jump to call it a soul-damning choice.
Yes, killing is a sin. And that means killing yourself. But what if it's not so clear-cut? Wouldn't the better alternative -- for Christians -- be to embrace the suffering? To act out and talk God's loving kindness, God's patience, God's endurance? Wouldn't the word resurrection be the first Christian word spoken at death (any death!)?
Depression is a sickness. Sometimes that sickness ends in death.
And the word of grace says this: Heal the sick. Raise the dead. Do as God has done in Jesus Christ.