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Neither of us could have written it 10 or 20 years ago. It sounds odd to say this, but even decades after our mothers killed themselves, it was difficult for us to talk about our mothers with anybody but our closest family members and friends. Articulating the overwhelming emotions was challenging – and still is – and there remains a stigma around suicide. It’s lessened some, but still exists, and we are products of an era when the word “suicide” was whispered, if mentioned at all.
Yes. Just about every author can tell tales of woe related to the creative process. We experienced all of those, compounded by the angst of retrieving painful memories and expressing emotions we’ve rarely talked about with anyone (except each other), some of them deeply buried. On top of that, we live nearly 1,000 miles apart. And we had the touchy challenge of melding our different writing styles.
Almost by accident.
Rick was visiting David in Arkansas, and during a long stroll around Lake Fayetteville, David suggested we might write a novel together – the one he had in mind when he emailed “research” questions to Tom, Denny and Rick several years earlier. David’s early formulation was that two friends with the same tragic experience of a parent’s suicide as kids lost track of each other for many years and subsequently reconnected as adults. In those interim years, the fictional characters had traveled very different paths. One became a successful business executive, the other was in and out of jail.
But as we walked and talked, we realized that the true story – our story, and the stories of our friends Dennis and Tom – was more powerful, believable, and meaningful than any fictional version could be.
It was our normal. Neither of us knew anything different. David’s mother had attempted suicide several times before, and had been hospitalized for psychological problems, but as a child he didn’t know what depression was or what life without a depressed mother was like. Rick’s mother had never tried to kill herself before. She certainly had some mood swings, but were they any more severe than we all experience in our lives? We didn’t have any points of comparison.
We were astounded to realize that we’ve lived in the same state at the same time for less than 11 years. But we never lost touch or the closeness we’ve felt since the moment we shared our suicide secret. Even when Rick was in the Air Force, stationed in Germany, we’d send audio tapes back and forth. We pursued similar careers and helped each other professionally from time to time. We know each other’s children and extended families. Over the years, we and our wives have vacationed together in locales around the globe. We share a passion for photography and take periodic “buddy” trips with two other friends to exercise our creative skills. We both are fans of the Great American sport (that’s baseball, not football!).
For us, preserving our friendship has always been paramount. When we walked around Lake Fayetteville contemplating the book as a joint project, Rick’s biggest concern about collaborating on a big project like this was that it could damage our friendship in some way. It gave us genuine pause. Fortunately, that fear was unfounded.
The mood, the description of setting, characters and language, the thoughts and emotions expressed, the facts at the time — all are as accurate and faithful to the truth as we know them to be.
Fortunately, in many cases we were able to draw from two memories instead of just one (or three or four, if it involved the other two sons). Now and again, we were able to consult others – a sibling, an aunt or uncle, a cousin – who also remembered. Most narrative chapters were constructed gradually, piece by piece, much like a puzzle. Often, one or both of us had strong memories of what happened in general, such as the setting where it took place, how we felt or what we were thinking at the time.
If our recollections varied, we’d probe or push one another to re-explore our memories and then compare notes again. Almost always, that process yielded additional details and enhanced clarity we probably wouldn’t have been able to retrieve otherwise.
Regrettably, no. Geography, life circumstances, health issues, travel schedules, unexpected happenstances – they’ve all conspired against us reconvening. Chicago remains the one and only time we’ve all broken bread together.
We’ve gathered in various groupings: Rick and David, Dennis and David, Tom, Rick and David. We speculated about a reunion after Sons of Suicide was published, but so far nothing is on the calendar; hopefully, that’ll change for there’s nothing we’d like better than a chance to thank Tommy and Denny for all they gave to this project. But don’t think for a second that we don’t communicate frequently; hardly a month goes by that one or both of us isn’t on the phone with one or both of them, or the four of us are shooting emails back and forth sounding off on some “hot” political, cultural or sports issue.
To our amazement, it’s brought us even closer together, which we wouldn’t have thought possible before launching the project.
While we didn’t always agree on tough calls and we were constantly editing each other’s writing, we never argued in any destructive way, and always found ways of compromising that retained what we each believed essential. Though our writing styles vary , we soon realized that the combination of our approaches to writing made for a stronger, more balanced result – and perfect for a book comprised of material that depended on a variety of forms of writing.
The friendship acid test for us? That we still want to talk with one another every day, be it about baseball or grandchildren or our health, and we can’t wait to plan our next travel adventure together with our cherished spouses or photography buddies.
Yes. Probably more for David than for Rick, but it certainly was for both of us. That was true as we wrote the book and recalled difficult, anguished moments.
And as we finished the manuscript, the enormity of it all – more than half a century of life dealing with such a life-altering loss – really hit us hard, much harder than we ever anticipated. Yet, the experience was quite rewarding — and unexpectedly revealing — as well.
There was, of course, the satisfaction of finishing what we started, but in a deeper sense the project led us and Tom and Dennis into long-overdue conversations with those close to us about the past that has, in many cases, allowed us to better understand our lost parents and the lives they lived and chose to end.
We’re not social workers or psychiatrists; we don’t feel qualified to give advice. All we can do is share our story — and our experiences and lessons learned.
What we can say is that our friendship was critical to us coming to terms with our mothers’ deaths. As fate would have it, we met at exactly the right moment. Finding someone you trust and are comfortable opening up to, who truly listens to you and understands what you’re feeling and going through, can be the key to getting past the terrible early years when all seems lost.
We can’t help but wonder if our mothers’ fates might’ve turned out differently if they’d had someone to share their troubles with. We’re well aware of our good fortune.
Simple, really. That the book’s story and messages (you’re not alone; you have to open up to heal) will ease the burden on other survivors of suicide loss and their friends and families, and at the same time assist the medical professionals – psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, clergy — who seek to counsel them.
For us, it’s not about selling books, it’s about sharing books with those in need. Which is why all net proceeds from book sales of Sons of Suicide will be donated to organizations dedicated to helping people – young people, especially — whose lives have been torn apart by the suicide of someone close to them.
Net proceeds from sales of Sons of Suicide will be donated to nonprofits focused on suicide prevention, survivors, grief counseling and mental health.