There is a moment

... in a life. Well, we all know our life is made up of many moments, and some moments define our life, but in the end there is really only one moment. The moment we realize our life is done, and our next breath is our last. And we return, if we're lucky, to becoming what we are made of, the proverbial stardust (thanks Carl Sagan).

Ok, slightly melodramatic? Yes, in the face of reality, and no, in the reality of our being. We all die, so we all experience the one moment just before we don't. And why am I seemingly occasionally intrigued by the idea of this one moment?

I've written at some length about my Dysthymia. Mine is likely - since it can't be absolutely determined by any real test, only a psychiatric evaluation - genetic, meaning it runs in the family and likely expressed by other members of the family. And it has.

On August 21, 1991, my older brother Greg went to work as normal. He was the stereotypical type A personality, but he also had a dark side he rarely spoke of but had all the signs of an angry self-destructive life. When he was 43 he had an angioplasty, at 45 had his lungs pumped, and at 47 was informed he would need a heart-lung replacement before he was 50, or face the reality.

During lunch that day, he went home. His kids where home on summer vacation and his wife busy with life. He kissed her and said he loved his kids, and then sat down on the couch to smoke a cigarette. He only got halfway through before suffering a heart attack and die, and sadly, in front of his kids. But in fairness to him, he knew he was dying and didn't want to die at work, but at home.

When the medical examiner conducted the autopsy he discovered that his lungs were about two-thirds full of fluids. Time wasn't on his side and he knew it. Our Dad was devasted, his only - in his eyes since he kicked me out - son was gone. He didn't speak to me for months and did little else in his life after that. He had his goals in life, and later we discovered, which was simply to survive for awhile longer.

My Dad passed away November 11, 1994. he had three goals after Greg's death, to pay off the 30-year mortage to the only home he's bought, to celebrate the 50th anniversary with Mom, and celebrate his 75th birthday. The next day after his birthday he didn't get out of bed and shortly later didn't recognize anyone. He passed away in his sleep two days later. He simply gave up.

The family rarely talks about the deaths of Greg and Dad, especially with me because I call them mental suicides. They foresaw the moment and made a decision about their moment to die. Years later my nephew Spencer committed suicide at home. I disagree with the explanation on the Web page about him after talking with my sister. All the signs were there, including having therapy, but they felt he was getting better.

And that's what they didn't catch, the disguise of the signs, is relatively easy if someone wants to do so to hide their true feelings. I know this because I've lived on the edge all my life and have walked to the the very edge to see and maybe do. I didn't for reasons I don't know or can explain except I chose life at the last moment. But as I get older, as many people, I see the reality of the moment in my life.

While almost all people simply push it into the back of their mind and don't think about it or care to see it unless something happens to bring it into the forefront of their mind, some find it's always there, hiding in the subconscious to become real at the slightest trigger. The triggers are unique to the individual and often not known until they suddenly feel it. It can happen listening to the radio, reading the newspaper, seeing something or someone, or some small thing in the flow of their life.

The reality is that we all die from our own hand, the question is if we do it knowingly and intentionally, namely did we do it knowing we would die. But what's knowing? Is it a matter of degree? Is it a choice? Or do we simply decide it's not really suicide but living to the edge, except when the edge moves and we fall over into the abyss. We're not Wile E. Coyote and survive the fall, we die. Short and sweet, we have our moment.

As so some day the person behind the camera won't be there or here typing my essay. I can only go forward and live the life I know and want to do and be. That's all I can do, and someday my moment will arrive. But it won't be from suicide. That is something I know for sure. While I may not like the day ahead of me, I like the sunrise too much.