Beyond Dareyem

Today is World Suicide Prevention Day, along with the week long National Suicide Prevention Week (September 8-14), and the AFSP asked people to post why they support a world without suicide.  I lost my older brother Michael to suicide on March 27, 2002, the day before he would have turned 24.  If I had written something like this in the immediate aftermath, it would surely be different,and if I were to write this ten years from now, I know it would be different still.  In this moment, in 2013, here are my thoughts.

Why do I support a #WorldWithoutSuicide?

So that I didn't have to be that girl enjoying her senior year spring break, on the brink of her 18th birthday, awaiting the life passage that is high school graduation and double checking that my brother Michael would be home from Colorado in attendance. (After all, I did attend every band concert, scouting event and anything he ever did. Like a model little sister.  I mean, remember his graduation ceremony that my family and I drove cross-country for where he overslept and didn’t even show up?  Yeah, I was there.  I think I was due some payback in sibling duties!!) So I wasn't that girl whose whole world was ahead of her, potential and promise so large it was immeasurable and then in an instant it was shattered. Obliterated. The world is unkind. So I wasn't that girl, who was so instantly jaded, robbed of any remaining childhood innocence, cynical, and angry, oh so angry. One phone call, one sentence, sobs and screams and that was it.  That was the moment in time when my life was frozen. Frozen. It's 11 and a half years later - and some days, some minutes, I am still frozen.  So I didn't have to be that girl, so angry, how could you do this to me, Michael?? I loved you, I looked up to you more than you ever knew...and now I am forced to make myself picture my brother in hell, forced to question my shaky beliefs, so so angry at him that I actually believed, had he not chosen such a sure method, had he done a shabby job and become a survivor of a suicide attempt, I wanted to see him not in a clinic for help, but see him behind bars for committing the crime of attempted murder. In jail, in hell where you belong you selfish little bastard how could you do this to our perfect family?? And then it was the guilt, anger and guilt swaying back and forth, two unstoppable forces in my mind why did you do this to us?? Why wasn't I able to stop this?? Why can't I see you again??  It's a guilt I still bear to this day.  I am ridiculously hard on myself about everything and anything.

So I wouldn't have to be that girl reading through his journals, aware of the privacy I was invading yet so desperate for an answer to my why?? That I had to keep reading, to fill in answers in encrypted lines, to search for references to a little sister, to invent meanings to words I hadn't authored. So I didn't have to be the girl who swears off Tequila because they found alcohol in his system and an empty bottle in his room, the only thing they found in his system. When I just really needed something to blame other than myself and all I got was Tequila. So I wouldn't have to see his bloody body every time I closed my eyes to attempt sleep, the pictures my mind made up since I never actually saw his body he was miles away until the funeral with the bullet wound so perfectly stitched up. So I wouldn't be reminded of his death upon every instance of gun violence, every murder, every mass shooting, every political debate, every gun rights rally, every mention of the word gun, every gesture of a friend putting two fingers to his/her neck or temple and pulling the imaginary trigger, every time anyone had a dreary view on a petty problem and made this point with catchphrases- just shoot me now, I’d rather kill myself, I wanted to shoot myself…

So I didn't get preyed upon and scooped under the wing, so I didn't become a lost, blind puppy, a sheep, a minion, so I didn't lose my way, lose my potential, lose my relationships, lose myself. 

As selfish as my DNA and my birth order and my life experiences have made me, it’s not all about me.  It’s about my loved ones also…

So my mother never has to live another second of another minute of another day thinking she's to blame or that she ever failed as a mother, her most basic inherent function.

So my father never has to grieve the loss of his baby boy, never has to feel the guilt and shame associated with this sickness and this cause of death.

So that my big brother never has to know the pain of losing his only brother, his counterpart in the family tree.

So that my big sister never has to feel this crushing blow, her baby brother, her confidant, her friend.

So that my grandmother doesn't have to spend old age outliving another family member.

So that my aunts and uncles and cousins don't have to see him as a memory.

So we don’t have to think twice when answering the simple questions, “How many kids do you have?  How many siblings do you have?”

Yesterday was the second of two performances at Citizen's Bank Park in Philadelphia on this leg of the tour for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.  My partner and I had tickets to both nights, as any decent fangirls would.  Night one was amazing, a high-energy, playful Bruce interacted with and entertained the crowd of some 50,000 people for a nonstop 3 hours and 43 minutes.  We came in from our CSA tail-gait, waited in the line for the bathroom and took our seats just as the band was coming on stage.  The setlist highlights included a "Summertime Blues" opener (it was Labor Day Weekend, after all), "Sherry Darling", "Lost in the Flood" (first time we had heard this in concert, 20-something shows later), "Human Touch", "Jersey Girl", "You Can't Sit Down" and "Twist and Shout".  Our seats were spectacular, about as good as anyone could hope for in such a large stadium setting.  We were in the section closest to the stage in left field, elevated above the GA standers and those seated on the field.  We could see without standing, and also stand and dance without bothering those around us.  The weather was iffy, but thanks to Bruce's magic, the rain held off and there was an amazing sweet summer breeze.  

Then, along came night two.  I had managed to score general admission tickets to this show, and the whole GA experience was a first for us.  I knew how it generally worked, there would be a certain number of people given numbered wristbands, there would be a lottery to decide who entered the stadium first, and others would follow in numerical order.  I also knew that the only reason I was so easily able to obtain GA tickets in the first place was due to the immense pit they were going to have.  Picture a large portion of this outfield jammed packed with fans:

So I knew chances of us getting a good spot in the lottery were lower than they normally would be.  But still, I had GA tickets, and a girl can dream! Turns out they were handing out 1,800 wristbands and allowing a total of 5,000 people in the pit. We arrived semi-early and got #1200 and 1201.  Getting a GA ticket turns into a big commitment.  You must arrive early to get a wristband at the lottery.  There isn't much time for tailgaiting if at all, because you want to have your wits about you and your bladder empty should your number get called! You have to create a sign request, because Bruce collects and plays them...you never know, he might pick yours!  Here I am with mine...I am still chasing this song!

Before we knew it, it was time to line up and my excitement was at an all time high.  This quickly faded as #1526 was called which was pretty bad for us. By the time we got in, some 1,500 fans would already be holding spots at the stage and at each and every podium Bruce visits throughout the show.   With a rainstorm brewing and both of us literally fighting back tears, we decided to forget the whole thing and drown our sorrows in some beers across the street at Xfinity Live! This is a fairly new addition to the South Philly Sports Complex, and a great place to hang out, in my opinion.  We figured why go inside the stadium and stand like cattle in the rain with still hours left until the start of the show?  Much better to shrug it off and have a few beers!  The ID checker on the way into the bar could read the disappointment on both of our faces (but mostly mine).  I tried to explain what had just happened, but I wasn't sure he would understand, and I was afraid the tears I was holding back so well would just suddenly explode.  Somehow I held my composure, forced a smile, and assured him I would still enjoy the concert...after a few beers.

We headed back down the street to scope out the GA scene around 7:30PM.  There appeared to still be plenty of room along the rail where Bruce was guaranteed to run by at some point in the night.  There was also still ample room to shove up and get pretty damn close to the stage itself.  So there we stood, on the same ground as Raul Ibanez, Pat Burrell and countless other Phillies.  We decided to hang back by the rail, still with an excellent view of the stage and patience prevailed as we waited for the moment Bruce would be close enough to touch.  The last song to play before Bruce entered the stage was The Gaslight Anthem's "Miles Davis and the Cool". (Just a fun fact!)  Then it was a solo acoustic "Factory" to kick things off.  

(Photo from Backstreets)

Our area remained nice and open, not crammed against everyone else like GA sometimes can be.  We had recovered from our lottery disappointment and settled in to enjoy the next few hours. The energy was high, and it certainly was a different perspective than the nosebleeds.  I have been known to say in the past, "Any ticket to Bruce, if it's a seat in the venue, get it, it will be worth it".  While I am going to stick with this, it is a whole different animal being in the pit.  

The first moment was almost here as "Waitin' On A Sunny Day" began and I knew Bruce was headed our way.  Rather than just wondering what he would play next, I was full of things to keep track of...when is he heading in our direction, when should I have my camera out, when should I move to get closer to him and risk losing my spot/getting trampled, when should I hold up my sign request and will he even see it? It definitely became less about the songs and more about the logistics...but I know that was partially just because it was our first time with GAs.  Once you experience something, it's so easy to get comfortable with it, which is why I'm already scheming to get more GA tickets and chancing the wristband lottery again in hopes of getting to strum Bruce's guitar during "Born to Run".  Always upping the ante!  Though I do want to point out that Bruce has such great command over his audiences, that even if I was in the last row, when the time came for him to lower his guitar into the crowd, and everyone close enough starts strumming, and everyone out of reach is mock strumming, with hands in the air and fingers moving, I along with them, it still feels like I am playing that guitar.  Turns out he didn't come all the way down to us for "Waitin'" and while I was disappointed, I tried to let it go and feel the raw emotion as he played "The River" from a sign request.

So the moment we were waiting for would have to be during "10th Avenue Freeze Out" and we would have to hope that he would come to left field.  Hopes were high as he had already been out in right field earlier in the night.  Since "10th Ave" is in the encore, some folks emptied out before he even played this, which allowed us an even better position on the rail.  Then he turned, down the stairs, and in our direction.  With one hand outstretched, one hand holding my camera in position, and my sign request secure under my arm, the moment had arrived.  There he was, Bruce Springsteen, 12 inches away, close enough to touch and drenched in sweat!

 I grabbed hold of his forearm and before I knew it he was gone.  I turned to Julie and she turned to me, raised her hand up and wiped his sweat on my cheek.  So of course, I did the same to her. Bruce stood on the makeshift stage, arm outstretched, watching the Clarence tribute video on the stage screens, a touching homage, but this night, my eyes were only on Bruce, as my shaky hand tried to snap a few last pictures. 

He headed back to the stage, and this time I got a quick touch of his abs, but mostly just wet shirt.  Adrenaline rushed like never before, and we turned to head out of the stadium as Bruce was already back on stage closing with American Land.  We had to beat traffic and it was a weeknight after all!  When I got to the car I instinctively used my Purell pump, then I thought to smell my hands to see what his sweat smelled like. All I got was a flowery alcohol whiff as I realized what I had already done. The adrenaline boost drove me pretty much all of the way home despite the late hour.  

Thank you Bruce!  We will see you in the Meadowlands in two weeks!