Brenda: My adopted brother, David, killed himself in February after struggling for many years with alcohol addiction. Unfortunately, the anguish and despair that drives someone to such an act is compounded by isolation that often prevents others from knowing how serious the situation has become until it is too late. His mother, Sally, died a couple years ago very unexpectedly and her death took a heavy toll on the family. I wrote this essay in an attempt to find some meaning in these terrible losses.
David’s Gift
by Brenda Knepper
My stepmother, Sally, once told me that she had a near-death experience during surgery when she was a young adult. During the experience, she said she hovered above her unconscious body observing what was happening below. Even though she seldom set foot in church, she believed that she had a soul and that there was something beyond this life; she believed in an afterlife. Who or what was the “her” that was doing the observing and was not located in her body?
I choose to believe that life goes on after this physical existence and that we are all moving towards reconciliation with a healing and loving God and a “peace that surpasses all understanding” – some of us slower than others, some by more direct paths, some by very wandering paths, and some by paths that may look like the wrong path.
I choose to believe that God was waiting for David with an open heart and outstretched arms, along with David’s mother, his aunt, grandparents and others who love him. I believe that there was healing waiting for David that was not possible on earth.
Megan Kanka and Polly Klass were children whose abduction and murder caused laws to be changed and organizations to come into being that have helped to prevent other children from suffering their same fate. They were seven and twelve when their lives ended and their true missions were revealed. I choose to believe that with David’s suicide, his mission in life was revealed – his life and death now dramatically serve as an example and catalyst for me and others to learn everything we can about how to stop cycles of abuse, provide support for loved ones and their families who suffer from substance addictions and depression, and prevent suicide from ever happening again in our families.
From the very night that I heard of David’s death, I have been taking a critical look at my relationship with my son. I ask myself what isn’t working, what works, where can I get additional support, and what should my role be in empowering him to lead a full and responsible and joyful life? One of David’s gifts to me is to understand more fully that how we love and support each other may be a matter of life and death.
While we are saddened that the light of David’s personality was dimmed by the battles that he and his family endured, we can hold on to the good times – when his true self came through – hopefully calling on those memories to help ease the shock, anger and sorrow of his death. David had many friends! He had the gift of an outgoing friendliness and charm that attracted lots of people to him over his lifetime. He was engaging, fun, and connected with others. He had also developed impeccable skills in the trades. I remember younger days – long days at the swimming pool in Georgia when we first met Sally and her boys. Both David and his brother, Don, were lively and bright-eyed guys; they are my adopted brothers even though we have been present in each other’s lives infrequently. I have always told people that I’m the eldest and only girl with six younger brothers.
The last time I saw David, I admired the beautiful flagstone patio that he had built at the back of the house in South Carolina and was surprised at how he instantly connected with my eight-year-old son, taking him on a long hike in the woods with the dog. I could see in David a person who might have made a good father, if he had not had to struggle with, what we can only see in hindsight, a terminal illness.
When one door closes, others open. While honoring the terrible grief that my Dad and Don have experienced with the tremendous losses of those most close to them, I hope that there is some comfort in the deepening connections and renewed relationships with the rest of the family that have resulted from these life changes. I know my other brothers feel the same as I – we are very grateful to have our Dad and Don more closely in our lives.
David left behind a note asking that his ashes be spread off the Gulf Coast of Florida where his Mom’s were spread. He signed his short note, “Love, David.” I choose to believe that David sincerely meant the very last two words that he chose to write – with everything his heart and soul had to give in those final moments. His life and love have been offered up, to learn from and to perhaps save the lives of others. Maybe David’s gift to you is different, but that is David’s gift to me.
