i missed the nuances of your decline it wasn’t a leap from a mountaintop but a bumpy slow fall down a rocky hill there was no loud outcry for help just a few rocks and some dust scattered now and then as you grappled silently with the slippery slope of life easy to see in hindsight perhaps but in real time just a few rocks and some dust scattered as you grappled silently with the slippery slope of life bruises hidden you weren’t trying to draw attention to your desperation but you probably thought i would be there to catch you just like those other times and that is the source of my heartbreak little did I know that you would make your escape into that dark night away from our love away from the light as you grappled silently with the slippery slope of life and that is the source of my heartbreak i missed the nuances of your decline but you probably thought i would be there to catch you just like those other times and that is the source of my heartbreak
My brother is gone, but his memory lives on. His suicide 7 years ago tomorrow was shocking, painful, unexpected and unnecessary – and yet his memory is sweet and life-affirming.
Time has a way of making that happen.
But what shouldn’t happen is any more preventable deaths.
World Mental Health Day is October 10, but EVERY DAY is a good day to focus on mental health, our own and that of our loved ones.
If you or anyone you know is suffering from the slippery slope of life and contemplating taking the ultimate step to end it, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 800-273-8255.
Or if you are struggling with the challenges of 2020, please know that you are not alone. Reach out. Share your nuances with someone. We may not notice the rocks and dust being scattered on your bumps down that rocky hill without your outcry – but once we hear it, we will come.
These reflections shared in loving memory of Steven Thomas Harvell.
© 2020, Glover Gardens
Shared to the dVerse Poets’ Pub site on “Open Link Night” on Sept. 28, 2023. You can find lots of creative and thought-provoking poetry there.
Since you are both nostalgic and reflective, it’s time for you time listen to an album released in mid-August called “The Dirt and the Stars.” It’s on Spotify, Amazon Music and YouTube. My newest artist. An adult.
Thank you, my friend, I will enrich my life with it tonight after work.
I listened, and loved it. From the album title to the throaty velvet wisdom of her voice to the simple and profound truths of the lyrics. It was / is a tonic. Kudos to you and your new artist. And thank you, my friend. It was like a musical empathy card.
That image of him grasping at the risk of the slippery slope stays with your reader. Such a good use of a slightly tarnished phrase – you re polish it!
Your brothers smile is truly lovely.
Such a beautiful, heartbreaking poem. I hope your brother is smiling at you from that other realm, beyond the slippery slope, Kim. I’m off to find my tissues now. Love to you.
I believe he is definitely smiling from his perch, somewhere over the rainbow. Thank you, Marti.
You write beautifully. I hope it’s also a little comfort to you to express the feelings in your poem.
Hi Annabel, thank you so much. And yes, it is definitely part of the healing process to write and share here in the blog. Several people have said to me privately that the words that poured out of my heart are exactly how they feel about a loved one they lost in the same way, and somehow it becomes part of their healing, as well. That really inspires me to write more and share more, but only as it happens organically.
(You write beautifully, too, by the way. I am always transported to where you are when I visit your blog.)
Beautifully written, loved the pictures as well and the smile on his face. He is always in your ❤
Thank you so much. It keeps him alive to write about him, in a small way.
Beautiful reminder about the heartbreaking devastation caused by mental illness. Thank you for sharing this. I love the pictures of the two of you.
Thank you so much for your loving words of support. This means a lot to me, perhaps more than you know. Namaste.
As a recovering alcoholic, I’ve seen so many lose sight and hope of the shore we’re calling to them from. But the conversation with them doesn’t stop. We have a cat getting old and near her end, we got her as a kitten when my kid brother died suddenly at 44, of distance, heartbreak & insufficient words. Verse letters like this keep hearts close from far, far away. Thanks.
Oh Brendan, I put myself in your shoes and I can feel what that cat means to you. And your description of your brother’s cause of death as “distance, heartbreak and insufficient words” is truly one of the most profound and illuminating I’ve ever encountered for this seemingly indescribable heartbreaking and horrible loss. That’s exactly what happened to my brother. I honor your vulnerability in sharing and your strength in your recovery.
Beautifully expressed. The repetition emphasizes the way our thoughts can sometimes spiral around and back again when it comes to a suicide loss. So many “ifs”, so much pain. I lost my stepson in 2020. So much of what you’ve written resonates and I don’t know if I could describe it as eloquently as you have here. I do try. Writing is definitely therapeutic. I appreciate your note as well. “once we hear it, we will come”. How true this is. I think now… the challenge in prevention is to dig deeper each time we ask “are you ok?” We need to ask again….”are you REALLY ok?’ I’m so very sorry for your loss. Thanks for sharing your experience and for advocating for suicide prevention.
Mish, you are so right. I have a friend at work (in Scotland), and that’s exactly his mantra. “How are you, REALLY?”, a second outreach to ensure that the person knows you are truly interested and truly there for their truth, whether it is actually “fine” or it is not fine at all. He is a survivor of suicide and one of the strongest people I know, because he embraces his whole self. He’s who my brother would have been if he had changed his mind. I hear and honor your suffering about your stepson (bonus son, we say in my family) and know that the hurt, while it can abate, never really leaves you. Thank you for this discussion and for helping my poem show on the “Open Link Night” at dVerse Poets’ Pub. That was very kind of you. https://dversepoets.com/2023/09/28/open-link-night-347/#comment-436072
Deeper than words can go, and yet so articulate. I recognise from many perspectives the accuracy of what you share, Kim.
Yes, the repetition rotates, as Kim said. Tolling like a bell.
This reminds me, we never really lose the intensity of our worst experiences, unless perhaps we can hold them, or feel them to be held for us, in the gentlest tender self-compassion…
Thank you. I appreciate you bringing this to the dVerse community. I send you love.
I have to confess that I’m overwhelmed by the sensitivity and thoughtfulness of your response, and the others from the dVerse community of readers. “Tolling like a bell” is such a strong image of what it’s like to be in recovery from a lasting and preventable loss like this. I was thinking of it as a shadow in my response to Mish above but couldn’t put it into words. I didn’t need to. You and the other Kim did it for me. And now that I’ve read this, I see that the shadow is the holding that you espouse… the shadow grows longer and longer as the sun goes down, if we let it. Namaste and I send you love as well.
Some regrets never leave us. Ever. I like the opening, and then the ending 12 lines, which say it all.