What Song Will You Sing?

I don't think my sister and I fought, but if we did, I don't remember. Lisa was eight years older, and although I was often doing something little sister-ish and annoying (like spilling nail polish on her desk or eating all her Easter candy), she never stayed angry. She'd let me scramble back onto her lap for a bedtime story, or patiently brush the knots from my hair before school.

I worry, though, because my memories of her are growing hazy. Why I recall the print of her flannel nightgown but not the last time we embraced is a mystery I hope to unravel. Probably not in this lifetime, though.

She was asleep when I left one morning for school, before the sun and my mother rose for the day. But by the time I came home, she was dead. That, I can never forget.

Death does not owe the living an explanation, and rarely gives one that satisfies our pain. But my sister's death left a gaping wound because it made no sense. She took her own beautiful life. Without warning, justification or explanation. Though I know there was nothing I would have accepted, I sometimes wonder if she might have at least tried.

My sister believed death was the only doorway left open to her, the only viable way to escape her pain. It wasn't. But because she bore the burden of her shame alone, the only song she could hear was one she sang to herself.

Alone, in the darkness of her shame and self hatred, she sang, "You have failed, you are alone, and the world will not mourn your loss."

Had she taken even one halting step towards her loved ones, we could have discerned the whispers of her tortured song - because she was so very wrong. Her past, present and future were not dirty, ugly or worthless.

It was the song she sang in the silence of her guilt led her to hopelessness and bitter despair. My sister was a powerful, intelligent and valuable soul - just like the rest of us. She was never beyond hope, although her thoughts fooled her just long enough for her to make a horrible mistake.

None of us are ever beyond hope. Hope is ingrained in who we are; we are born into its graces. As long as we control our moments of darkness, we'll live out our lives lifted by dreams and passions until our journeys are complete. The searing feeling of hopelessness is never a cue to give up, no matter how momentarily desperate we feel.

Our stories are complete when we have done all we can to help others. It does nothing to better the world when we leave it with a life half written, ended on a note of despair.

When we feel hopeless, we've allowed the song of our sadness to drown out the grace and beauty of our futures. Hopelessness is a transient condition that feels agonizingly real. Death, however, is a permanent solution to that temporary agony.

If my sister were alive today, she would be long past her pain, living dreams she imagined for herself, along with ones she never knew were possible.

If she were alive, she would be singing others past their pain and fear. Survivors make the best leaders and guides. They show others how to move past pain and fear because they never discount its cost, or downplay how very terrifying it can feel to choose life over death. 

 When my sister died, I thought about taking my own life. Suicide became a disease, a cancer of the mind. And in the 25 years since she's been gone, I have been overcome by grief and fear more times than I'd like to admit. But whenever fear and hopelessness threaten to root, I have learned to recognize their twisted song as a poisonous lie, an impostor presenting itself as a viable answer to pain.

Grief and fear insist, "Life is too difficult. There is no way out of the mess you've made. You will never be whole or happy again." But I have learned - over time and with help and guidance of loving mentors, friends and counsellors - that fear and depression is a song that will disable me only if I allow it to.

Sometimes you will need another person singing to guide you through your darkness. Other times, you'll find yourself isolated in the wilderness of your fears. If you find yourself alone in a valley, have your song ready. It's one you will sing to yourself many times throughout your life, just as I did:

"On the other side of this dark hill is my future. When I arrive, I'll be stronger and more capable because I did not give in to this momentary darkness. I have dreams to nurture and people to help. My conquering soul will brighten the future. Hope is the answer to darkness and courage the answer to fear."

Living can be unbearably painful, but as we conquer our pain and choose to live, we grow. That is what we are created to do; we gather strength from those around us, then return with more strength to offer those who are walking through their times of fire.

No matter what hopelessness breeds inside your silence, there is always love. Those who love you surround you, waiting for you to take that first step. Waiting for you to sing a new song.

When you feel alone, ask yourself: What song will I sing? 

When you've climbed beyond your fears: What song will you sing? 

Remember the words, and teach them to others.

Photo: My sister Lisa, holding me. California, 1975

* I hope you've enjoyed this essay. I very much thrive on connecting with readers through comments and messages, so please let me know what you think. Comment, vote and above all, please keep reading! It gives me hope and keeps me writing! :)