Ride Through

We were watching “The Bourne Identity” together in a movie theater, and suddenly our 15-year-old son Ariel curled up – and with a look of helplessness and fear – began to weep. 

I had absolutely no idea why.

Now, nine years later after Ariel ended his pain and life by suicide in 2016, I still do not fully understand.  How could our son, who had recently achieved his dream of becoming a judo champion, have transformed before my eyes from a confident and strong young man to a frightened, tearful child?  Today the answer is clearer, but remains so difficult to fathom.  The monstrous illness of depression had attacked our son’s brain -and then his soul.   Despite his determination to take on many challenges once he was diagnosed with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder), the suffering he experienced from depression and anxiety ultimately overwhelmed him. 

The tears in the movie theatre soon turned into full blown depression, anxiety and teenage rebellion.  As Ariel’s pain, confusion and suffering increased, so did the turmoil in our family. 

This website will primarily delve into Ariel’s life during high school, the Mechina (gap year program), the army, volunteering at the Jerusalem Battered Women’s Shelter as part of his National Service, and his time at home where he lived before ending his life by suicide. 

Concomitantly, I will share my journey of loss and resilience – and my decision to talk and write openly about suicide prevention.  My objective – my mission in life – is to increase awareness about suicide prevention in order to reduce the number of suicides.  My hope is that there will be fewer fathers like me who need to say kaddish for their sons.  I will focus primarily – but not exclusively – on Ariel and myself to protect the privacy of my wife and my two other children.

Our son decided to end his suffering and pain by suicide.  His decision has been devastating.  Losing a child to suicide is uniquely complex and, for me, filled with a myriad of ‘what ifs’ and a terrible sense of guilt that I did not fulfill the basic task of any parent – to protect my child.  The sense of regret about my ignorance of the terrible disease of depression has been mixed with intense anger at myself – and at Ariel -for the anguish he caused his family, friends and community.   As my wife  pointedly stated, “Ariel ended his pain and bequeathed it to others.”

The pain is intense.  There is a famous Israeli song by Naomi Shemer called “The Honey and the Thorns.”  At the ceremony marking Ariel’s eighth yahrzeit, I talked about the title of the song in reverse order – the thorns and the honey – because that has become my new frame of reference. I can appreciate the multitude of blessings I have in life, but I have lost my child.  I lost my child to suicide while I was overseas on vacation.  This loss has been crushing and changed me forever.  The honey is sweet, and I cherish my wife, children, grandchildren, friends and, of course, my bike! But the sharp thorns still penetrate my soul.

Life’s path is now a series of uphills and downhills filled with pain, confusion, and anger – but also with hope, strength and resilience.  Everything changed forever on December 17th, 2016, but somehow, I have managed to hold my pain and my passion side by side – with respect for each – and to stay on the path by “riding through.” 

I first came upon the phrase “riding through” during a visit to Soweto, South Africa, where I saw a picture on a dilapidated shack of a cyclist riding uphill with a backpack. At the bottom of the picture were the words: “Riding Through”, and at that moment they struck me as an apt description of my life as a grieving father. My emotional backpack, full of stones, is sometimes unbearably heavy, sometimes a bit lighter, and sometimes, quite unexpectedly, the jagged edge of a rock pierces me.

For me, there are no defined stages of grief, just a series of ongoing cycles. In Jerusalem, there are always hills to climb. When I ride, I sometimes fall, am bloodied and cry – but I get back on the bike.  Climbing, legs burning, I am determined to keep moving forward.  After reaching the top, there is an exhilarating sense of freedom flying down. I feel strong and can fully enjoy the ride. Before Ariel died, speeding down a hill I would often yell out, “I’m alive.” Now, despite the ever-present burden of my backpack, I am still alive. Somehow, I ride through –up and down the hills of a life scarred by loss, but filled with joy and blessings.

Suicide prevention has become my life’s mission. To that end, in the following pages I will share what transpired at various stages of Ariel’s life and what, in retrospect, I have learned from the missed opportunities, ignorance, denial, and regret.  The goal is not to wallow in guilt or to blame the mental health system, but rather to do a “tikkun,” an act of repair that will make the world better. I feel that it is my obligation to own my lack of knowledge and mistakes, and to educate others. By being proactive – together we can save lives. This has not weakened me as some people feared it might.  In fact, the opposite has been true:   Talking about suicide prevention has strengthened my resolve, and has even been part of the honey/blessings that I mentioned earlier.  I refer to my insights as “takeaways” because these past nine years have been a learning experience. I have been “riding through” in the face of loss for my own sake – and over time, for the sake of others – from self-preservation to preserving lives.